Neverland: Part 3
by Doverstar
Summary: If you've seen the miniseries, Neverland (2011), then you know that it ended with Peter (Charlie Rowe) realizing his shadow was missing. From the cave-in and beyond, this will continue it as best as I know how, including Wendy and the Darlings' famous flight with Peter, back to the Neverland to challenge James Hook and complete the enchanting story. Don't forget to review!
1. Chapter 1: The Orb Took a Knock

Peter woke up wet. His heart was pounding, his hands were scraped, his raven-black hair was covered in dust, and his shoes torn and scuffed. But his clothing seemed intact, apart from the fact that they were somehow soaked.

Breathing hard, the British boy glanced down. So that was it. He was sitting in a puddle.

He scrambled to a standing position and immediately collapsed again. His legs began trembling, and a feeling similar to the one you get while standing too near a fireplace shot up the entire left side of his body-multiplied by ten. The part of his stomach that Captain Bonny had stabbed started to throb in a dull, irritating way that made him grit his teeth.

He would not succumb to the pain.

Dazed, he tried to remember what had happened.

_A cave..._

He had been fighting Jimmy-no-_Hook_. The blaggard had planned to attack the Indians with weaponry from London, his way of passage being...

"The orb!" Peter muttered under his breath, winded as he tried again to stand. This time the pain subsided a little, and he felt a tingling sensation go through his mind. _Magic_. Tree-spirit magic.

A musical sound startled him. It was coming from his coat pocket.

"Tink!" Peter remembered, and carefully plucked the tiny, flickering tree-spirit from the pocket, holding her up to his eyeline. "Tinkerbell?"

For an agonizing moment the miniature silver-and-blue form did not move. Then her voice chimed in his mind, faint and weak.

_"Peter...where are we?"_

It was then that Peter finally took a good look around. A small, half-hearted smile started to grow on his impish face. "London," he breathed, still trying to get his bearings. "The cave-in must've jostled the orb."

He was home! The orphan had never been so overjoyed to see the damp, cold streets in his life, surrounded by buildings and moonlight.

Tinkerbell attempted to lift her head.

Peter's smile disappeared and he held her closer, concerned. "Tink, are you all right?"

The tree-spirit finally sat up a little. _"My magic isn't as strong as it should be. Peter...we aren't safe here."_

Peter felt his knees growing weak again, but he chose to ignore it. "What d'you mean?" he said, and remembered to whisper-it was, after all, night time.

How long had he been unconscious, lying there in a puddle? What a spectacle he would have made!

_"Trees." _Tink announced meekly. _"Where are the trees?"_

"It's a city," Peter said absently. "Not many trees around here."

_"Peter! We've got to go. Quickly, before we're discovered." _Her voice was stronger now, as if she were getting over the shock of what had happened, forgetting her new surroundings.

Peter stared at her, then glanced at the moon. "But we've only just arrived."

_"The mineral dust is in your veins," _Tinkerbell reminded him. _"We cannot survive in a place like this for long, Peter."_

As if to prove her point, Peter's knees finally buckled, and he dropped to the ground.

_"It's easier for you," _Tinkerbell went on almost sourly. _"You are mostly human."_

Peter said, taking offense as he staggered to his feet and stumbled back down again, "You call this easy?"

Tinkerbell sounded amused as her echoing tone sounded in his mind, _"We can't leave until the orb is hidden._"

Peter was confused. "The orb? It's buried. The cave-in, don't you remember?"

_"Dr. Fludd mentioned a second portal,_" Tinkerbell replied. "_Or did you get to Neverland by wishing?_"

The sudden gravity of their situation hit Peter, making his heart sink. "We've got to find it."

_"What will you do then?_" Tinkerbell inquired, fluttering now above his outstretched palm.

Peter stared at her, realizing what she meant. He pursed his lips in determination. "You needn't worry, Tink. I'll hide it."

Tink seemed a bit relieved. _"Where would it be?_"

Peter thought for a moment, pausing. He glanced at the ground, then around at the houses and shops.

Inhaling, his next words came out as a sigh. "I dunno. Dr. Fludd had a few people working for him here." _Including Hook, _he added inwardly, "They might know where it is."

He ended up carrying her in his coat once more, wary of people seeing the tree-spirit and asking too many questions.

Shaking his head to let the rock dust fall from his bangs, Peter closed his eyes and thought of his crew-Curly, Nibs, Slightly, Twins, Tootles...and Fox. With that single thought, happiness blossomed in his chest as he remembered cackling over past heists in the basement of Jimmy's fencing academy, staying up late talking about nothing with his friends.

And with this thought, in the space of two heartbeats, Peter shot into the air. He flew less-than-gracefully toward the stars, just until he had a bird's-eye view of London.

* * *

The hard part was getting the orb safely away from Dr. Fludd's companions.

When Peter found the building, he was already losing more strength. He recognized it immediately. He had entered it just hours before the biggest adventure of his life had begun. He still remembered how his heart had leapt nearly out of his chest when Dr. Fludd had told him the truth: that the orb they'd found in Harbottle's was not a bomb that had killed his friends, but a portal to the Neverland.

If he could simply get past the monks in that room...

As Peter slipped through the left-open door, Tinkerbell chimed in his head, _"Stop! Listen!"_

Peter halted immediately, his sword wound still throbbing. He cocked his head in the dark of the hallway, whispering, "I don't hear anything."

Tink was silent, waiting for him to understand.

Peter's eyebrows pinched together. "Where are the men? What's happened?" His thoughts whirled. Had they taken the orb to another location?

He crept down the hall, searching each room. All of them were empty. He rummaged through cupboards, looking under tables and in every drawer he could find. No orb.

_"It's here," _Tinkerbell told him, and his heartbeat picked up.

"How can you be sure?" asked Peter.

_"I feel it."_

He could understand that. Once, he had known of the presence of an Indian scout miles ahead of him before with the exact same reason. He could feel it.

But he could not feel the orb. "How?" he repeated.

"_Its magic leads to my homeland, Peter," _Tinkerbell explained, almost impatiently. "_We're connected."_

"Where is it?"

She took a moment to answer. _"Not here. Its aura is too faint._"

For the next few minutes, Peter felt as if he were playing a game of Hot and Cold with the tree-spirit, raiding every room with the expert, quick hands of a master thief, just to find that they were out of luck in each corner. He even flew to the ceiling and looked between the rafters. Nothing.

"It's not here," sighed Peter. "We checked everywhere."

_"There!"_ Tinkerbell cried. She flitted out of his coat pocket and hovered, pointing a tiny, glowing finger to a nearby sofa.

Peter re-checked beneath the cushions and even pushed it back a little to check. He stood still, resting a moment, frustrated. Still no orb.

Tink landed on the middle cushion, and the light she gave off seemed to glow brighter. The music coming from her wings grew louder, a bit merrier.

Taking the hint, Peter picked up the cushion and examined it. Not so much as a golden flicker gave him a clue.

But Tinkerbell flew in a circle around the cushion as he held it, her tinkling wings playing even more upbeat bell sounds. _"It's covered,"_ she insisted. "_Something is cloaking it. I can feel only half of its power."_

Peter nodded and pulled out his knife; a souvenir from their job at Harbottle's Antiques. Without hesitation, he gut the pillow open, slicing it right down the middle.

He caught his breath. There was the orb, cozily tucked beneath folds of cotton. The tip of his dagger had only just grazed it, forcing it to show him scenes from the Neverland forests and seas. Tinkerbell's wings made a dipping tune, as if voicing her longing.

"Now," Peter said, pulling it out as carefully as possible, "to find a hiding place."


	2. Chapter 2: Character Meets Author

"It's got to be somewhere no one would think to look," Peter decided as they flew over rooftops.

Tinkerbell's light was flickering from his coat, and she sounded drowsy and strained as she answered, _"Yes. Hurry, Peter. If you can."_

"Don't worry, Tink," Peter gritted his teeth against the winter wind that was biting at his skin when he picked up speed. "I'll get us back."

Her only reply was the bell sound from her wings, growing fainter.

Peter himself felt fine, but he was the one carrying the orb, not hidden from its warm glow like the tree-spirit in his pocket.

They kept looking for about 20 more minutes. Then Peter stopped, almost dropping the precious object.

The building directly below them was one he recognized. Near the roof, large white letters spelled: _Whitechapel Fencing Academy_.

His old home. He'd grown up in the basement, with Fox, Slightly, Curly, Nibs, Twins, Tootles...and Jimmy.

_"Peter," _Tinkerbell's sickly tone broke through his thoughts, _"I don't mean to rush you..."_ She was practically whispering.

Peter found he was fighting a lump in his throat. _Why _couldn't he have left things alone that night? Things could be so different.

He could be Jimmy's partner by now.

Then he remembered. _He lied to me. Jimmy—**Hook **killed my father. I can't trust him. Never again._

Shaking his head, Peter swooped away from the building, thoughts swirling with memories of Fox's death and his hatred for the man that had led him to believe they were friends.

_"There,"_ Tinkerbell pointed to a home a bit bigger than the others, a bit fancier. _"It looks to be abandoned._"

Peter observed it with a glare and shook his head again a few times before arguing, "No. No, it's too obvious. It stands out. The orb won't be safe there."

_"We have to figure something out soon, Peter,"_ Tinkerbell protested. "_My strength is ebbing."_

Peter nodded slowly. He drifted closer to the house. "All right," he muttered. "We'll give it a go."

He landed on the windowsill, just barely balancing. It was riddled with cobwebs. Perhaps Tink was right; it did look relatively deserted. He realized with a jolt that the window had been left open. Dropping into a large nursery-like room, the boy examined the area.

"Where should we put it?" he whispered to Tink, suddenly spooked by the dreadful silence around them. It was as if he were in a graveyard.

_"Where no one would think to look," _she responded dryly, repeating his earlier comment.

"Right," Peter agreed, flustered.

He rummaged around a few dusty pieces of furniture before deciding on an old-fashioned cuckoo clock. He could put it in the glass case itself, behind the clock, where its light would be dimmest.

But just as he had placed it inside, drawing his knife and about to hit it, a soft voice sounded at the door.

"What have we here, Nathaniel?"

Peter whirled around, brandishing his dagger.

A middle-aged man who looked to be advancing toward 'elderly', with the white hair in his mustache, stood in the doorway. Beside him stood a massive, completely calm, St. Bernard.

Peter put on a brave face, but inwardly he was panicked.

"What are you doing, lad?" the man asked. His voice was genuinely curious.

"I-I was..." Peter stopped and mentally rebuked his loose tongue. He was so surprised he couldn't think clearly.

"The clock doesn't work, you know," the man went on. "Not as valuable as it looks."

He approached them, and Peter instinctively took a step back, pulling his coat closer in an attempt to hide Tinkerbell even more.

"I say," said the stranger. "We haven't even been introduced, boy. Aren't you going to say hello?"

Intrigued but confused, Peter refused to trust his voice yet, and kept his mouth firmly closed.

"Good heavens!" laughed the man, and his laugh was so infectious that Peter almost actually smiled. "How can I ask _you _to greet me," he chuckled, "when _I _have yet to do so myself?" He offered his hand, the dog at his heels like a large second shadow. "Hello. My name is James. James Barrie."

Peter kept his dagger in view, rejecting the hand. "Peter," he said quietly. "Aren't you going to have me nicked?" His tone was bitter. He'd been careless. Never had he gotten caught so easily.

"Does one get nicked for admiring a clock as dusty as that old contraption?" Barrie replied promptly. His eyes twinkled with mischief. "D'you know, young Peter—and this is merely a path to conversation—I could have sworn I saw you fly a moment ago."

Peter's tongue stopped working properly again, and he could feel the color drain from his face. It was all over now. He could not return to the Neverland. He would not see his friends ever again.

"Oh, not to worry," said James Barrie, noticing his visitor's distraught expression. "I won't tell a soul!" He put a finger to his lips. "But I would exercise caution, my little man," he added cheerily, "for the neighbors are quite the nosy type."

"What do you want from me?" Peter demanded in a quiet, miserable way that only the doomed will use. He didn't believe a word of it.

"Want? Nothing!" Barrie replied. Then he thought for a moment, and contradicted, "Actually, I do suppose an explanation would be helpful."

"An explanation?" Peter repeated, dumbfounded. This man really wasn't going to give him away?

"Yes, I believe that's just the thing," Barrie decided. "That, and the pleasure of a child's company. Come. You can trust me, you know. The only ears we have to worry about here are Nathaniel's." He gestured to the St. Bernard at his side. "And an extra bit of dinner tonight might keep him quiet enough, so even he shouldn't bother you." He winked.

Peter followed him hesitantly into a hallway and down a dark staircase, still gripping his dagger. "I don't understand," he insisted. "You aren't going to tell anyone?"

"Certainly not. One has to respect the luxury of privacy." James led the boy to a big dining room and lit the lamp, offering Peter tea that the young man politely refused as they sat.

"But you said you wanted an explanation," Peter went on. "Why?"

"Because I like a good story," Barrie said, pouring himself some tea. "And because seeing a flying boy carrying a glass sphere through the sky without the slightest regard for London fog quite easily summons odd thoughts."

His kind eyes searched Peter's, reminding him painfully of Dr. Fludd or the Indian, Shaka. Perhaps he _could _trust him.

So Peter told James Barrie everything-his life with Jimmy and his crew; the orb and its power; everything he knew of Neverland and its inhabitants; getting wounded and being saved by the tree-spirits and their mineral dust, thereby gaining the power of flight and enhancing the innocence in his heart; Jimmy's betrayal and transition into becoming captain of the _Jolly Roger_, using his last name as his official title; the fight in the caves for possession of the orb and the fate of Neverland; the cave-in and winding up here, back in London; finding the orb...

The man was a good listener. He reacted to the tale as one would react to a particularly good novel, gasping when shocking bits came and getting a disapproving glint in his kindly eyes when Peter spoke of his enemies.

When Peter had finished, Barrie finished off his tea and leaned forward excitedly. "And you chose my nursery as a place to hide the precious gateway?"

Peter nodded, and he sat back in the chair. He had long before sheathed his dagger, and had quite forgotten Tinkerbell in his story-telling.

"'Tis a grand tale, I admit," Barrie continued. "I suppose it explains away your flying," he added, "but the rest...there cannot really be another world such as that, can there?"

Now Tink escaped Peter's pocket indignantly, without permission, and hovered over James' head. Nathaniel, dosing at his master's feet, spotted her and let out a low growl of anxiety.

"Upon my word!" cried Barrie, gripping the arms of his chair and staring at the creature with wide eyes. "Your Neverland _does _exist!"

Peter snapped his fingers and gave Tinkerbell a warning look, and she landed in front of him, disobediently refusing to return to his coat, but holding still just the same.

"It is quite beautiful," Barrie observed, watching her warily. "Is it a fairy?"

Tinkerbell said something rude that Peter heard in his mind, but decided against repeating.

"_She _is a tree-spirit," Peter said, trying not to smile at Tink's outrage, "and her name is Tinkerbell."

"Yes, yes, of course. Dear me, I do apologize," Barrie babbled, still in shock. "You see, I've never come across such a pretty thing."

_"We can't stay here long, Peter," _Tinkerbell told him moodily, as if she'd gained strength from napping in his coat pocket but was still irritable and exhausted. Even her hovering had seemed less graceful.

"What a pretty sound!" Barrie said in awe when she spoke. "Like bells, I think. I see where she got her title."

"A friend of mine called her Tinkerbell for the music her wings make," Peter corrected. "But you see now, we have to leave."

"Very well," Barrie said instantly, as casually as if Peter had asked for seconds on tea. "I can see returning is important enough to you. And this orb-you hid it in my clock? How hard must you strike it?"

"Hard enough to suck us back," Peter answered, standing.

"Yes, good, right," Barrie rose to his feet too, still staring at Tinkerbell, who stared back a moment or two and flew to Peter's shoulder. "Peter, before you must leave," he said hastily, "If you don't mind, perhaps could you-"

Peter felt lightheaded suddenly. His vision swam, and the blood roaring in his ears drowned out James' next words. His legs buckled again, and Barrie hurried to catch him before he could collapse. Tinkerbell fluttered in his face worriedly.

_"Peter? Are you all right?"_

"Gracious!" Barrie exclaimed. "What's happened, boy? You look as though you've see a ghost."

"I..." Peter swallowed; his throat felt like it was made of sandpaper. He could barely move, his limbs were so weak. "It's getting worse, Tink," he said, lips barely parting.

Tinkerbell drifted to his pocket again staggeringly and replied quietly, _"Yes." _

"What is?" Barrie said, glancing at his coat. "Are you ill, Peter?"

Peter could only nod at first, then tried again to speak, his breathing almost failing him. "Mineral dust," he reminded the man. "W-We...we need...trees. We need Neverland."

"Of course!" said Barrie, quite as if he wanted to hit himself. "You can't go on long in a place like this, in your condition-what with the cold in those skies! ….But Peter, do you have the strength to hit your orb as hard as need be? Suppose you end up in a nasty sort of place?"

Peter hadn't thought of that. _Stupid, _he scolded himself, gritting his teeth. But he couldn't respond orally.

"Come along, no fuss," Barrie insisted. "You ought to spend a night here."

Peter struggled to move away, or even shake his head. "Can't—"

"I shall keep the orb safe, child, you needn't be troubled. Nathaniel will guard it. Nathaniel?"

As if the canine understood perfectly, Nathaniel the St. Bernard went promptly up the staircase, taking a left and disappearing into the nursery.

"Now then," Barrie said softly, like he was trying not to disturb the calm atmosphere in his dusty old house, "let's get you to bed, hmm?"

* * *

The next morning, Peter woke with a jolt, trying to remember where he was. His hand went to his dagger. When he examined the small attic room, filled with crates and books, the previous night's events came flooding back, and he relaxed, belting his weapon for another time.

"Tinkerbell?" Peter said quietly into the gloom. He felt rested and himself again.

He took out his biological father's wristwatch. It had begun working again. It was 6:30 AM, and not a second later. Peter glanced at the picture of his mother to the left of it, admiring her beautiful brown eyes as usual. He recognized them from looking in a mirror often enough. Then, also as usual, he closed the watch and looked over the back of it. Engraved in the gold exterior was a name—Peter's last name, come to find out. The watch was the only thing he had of his real parents.

_"James Barrie has left you a gift," _came Tink's voice in his head. She had alighted on his bedpost.

"What gift?" Peter inquired.

Tinkerbell flew to a brand-new suit hanging on an old coat rack. It was just Peter's size, and when he tried it on, it fit perfectly.

Almost three minutes later, a knock came on the door and Barrie stuck his head in. His face lit up when he saw Peter in the suit.

"It fits!" he greeted cheerily. "I thought it might be a bit snug. I had to check your size while you slept, you know, and I am sorry, but it looks quite gallant on you-doesn't it, Tinkerbell?"

_"Gallant indeed," _said Tink in amusement. Peter grinned. This time both he and Barrie heard her.

"Your fairy—erm, apologies, _tree-spirit _friend here, Peter, told me quite a lot about that Neverland of yours this morning," Barrie chattered on, entering the room fully. "About her people and the Indians and whatnot. It really _is _a fantastical story." And here he looked lost in thought for a moment, then smiled brightly and said, "Shall we go?"

"Go? Go where?" Peter said, still trying to keep up.

"Shopping!" Barrie announced. "You need new shoes."

Peter stared in embarrassment at his dirty, scuffed footwear. Although he agreed, his mind set now was all-business. "Thank you, Mister Barrie, but um...Tink and I—"

"Yes, yes, I know, you really must be going," Barrie said, looking disappointed. What a funny little man he was! "I just assumed you'd like to bring your friends back a thing or two!"

_"No," _Tinkerbell protested to him.

But Peter was surprised by Barrie's generousness. "Thank you," he repeated, trying to find the words to decline.

"Don't go and tell me you don't want to surprise your crew," Barrie said eagerly.

Peter, thinking it would be nice to spend another hour or two in London, nodded. "Yeah. Yes, thank you," he said once more, flustered. The word _yeah _sounded a bit garbled in his British accent.

"Splendid!" exclaimed Barrie. "Shall we?"

* * *

When Peter returned to the house, he had at least one item and a new pair of shoes for each of his crew, including himself. The childish side of him was just itching to get back, make a grand entrance, and offer them their new property. But the solemn side knew that getting back to Neverland would not be about gifts and good times-not fully, anyway. Hook needed to be reckoned with. _If he survived the cave-in, _Peter thought neutrally, _without his hand, too._

Now he stood awkwardly in Barrie's nursery, Nathaniel sitting with one paw lifted at the man's side, gawking at Tinkerbell, who was flying above Peter's head.

"We owe you our lives, Tink and I," Peter said to the stranger, who seemed less like one now. "We can't thank you enough for what you've done."

"Think nothing of it," Barrie scoffed, still smiling with that twinkling in his eye. "I say, Peter, if you _do _come to terms with this Hook character, slice him one for me, will you?"

Peter almost laughed. The man was full of good cheer. He smiled back, fighting a chortle, and nodded. "Thank you," he said, for the fourth time that day.

_"He's got nearly half the innocence you do," _Tinkerbell said fondly. _"I like him."_

Barrie had given him a smart bag (more like a leather case of sorts) in which to carry the presents, shoes, and his old clothing. Peter picked it up easily, and drew his knife. The orb sat on the floor in front of him, glowing and shimmering scenes as Peter tapped it a little with his toe.

Barrie watched it, immensely interested. When he caught Peter looking at him suspiciously, he lifted his palms. "Don't worry about me, Peter, I shan't touch it. Except, of course, to put it back behind the clock," he swept on hastily. "That goes without saying, you see. Er, but Peter, suppose you do me a small favor and...try not to hit it _too _hard, eh? It's just that I have friends living here with me—sharing this spacious place, if you will—and the family would just as soon _not _be carried away to a strange land, if you follow me."

Peter blinked, confused. "Yeah. Of course." He braced himself, raising his knife over the orb. Tinkerbell flew to his side.

"Goodbye, then, lad," Barrie said softly.

Peter felt he should do something kind-hug him even, shake his hand, thank him one more time—but all of this seemed unsatisfactory in light of how well the man had taken care of his new visitors, how patiently he had taken in the tales they'd told.

So he just nodded once, giving the man a half-hearted grin.

"Upon my word!" Barrie said, and laughed his infectious laugh.

Peter found himself still smiling. "What is it?"

"Your smile," Barrie explained. "Peter, you've still got every one of your baby teeth! How grand!"

Peter's cheery expression vanished and he put a finger to his teeth. They were smaller than he remembered. The telltale fear of the unknown knit his brow. "But how-"

_"The mineral dust," _Tinkerbell said from his pocket impatiently. _"In your blood. It feeds on your innocent heart. This is one of its changes on your human body."_

"Do you have all your baby teeth as well?" Peter asked her.

Barrie watched them, still enchanted by Peter's odd dental appearance, only guessing what the tree-spirit must be saying.

_"Tree-spirits never **lose **their teeth, Peter," _she told him, seemingly amused.

Peter blinked a few times, fingering the bones in his jaw even more intently, wondering if this could really be happening to him.

"You, my boy, are an absolute mystery," chuckled Barrie. "No. Not a mystery. By jove, you're a legend, _that's _what! A legend! The stuff of novels!" And here he stopped laughing suddenly, as if thinking that over.

Peter ignored the man's jubilant rant for the moment, lost in his own befuddled mental questions. "Are you ready, Tink?" He decided to change focus.

"_Quite ready," _she answered determinedly.

"Me too," he murmured. He glanced at Barrie, nodded again, giving him his all-baby-teeth smile, and flipped his dagger into the air, catching it expertly before raising his hand to hit the orb.

"Peter, one more thing," Barrie said, a bit seriously. "Two, actually. The first: can you _really _do it always?"

"Do what?"

"Fly. Can you really fly any time at all?"

For reply, Peter closed his eyes for a heartbeat or so and promptly lifted so above the carpet, his head nearly bumped the ceiling.

Barrie's eyes were twinkling their merry way. "I don't suppose," he said cautiously, "you can teach one how to achieve it?"

Peter felt another sympathetic smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth. He could hear Tink chuckling in his mind, a bit sadly. "No. 'Fraid not."

"Pity," Barrie admitted. Then he straightened, and his face took on that of a polite gentleman's."As for the second thing, lad: your last name? What is it?"

Peter's free hand went to his suit pocket, where his father's watch was hidden. He ran his thumb along the word engraved on the back of it. His hand tingled in response, and he brandished the dagger over the circular portal for the last time.

"Pan," he said, bidding farewell to James Barrie, and he hit the orb.


	3. Chapter 3: The Missing Shadow

Peter appeared from the wood around the Indian camp. He and Tinkerbell had traveled about half a day to get there, landing on the far end of the winter forest after striking the orb. Still wearing his suit of fine clothes and carrying the bag full of gifts, Peter took to the sky and made sure to set down again hidden, behind a tree, after spying his crew talking to Aaya (or Tiger Lily) below. He had long before realized that the others must have presumed him dead after the cave-in, and had planned this on the way to the camp.

The boy knew how to make an entrance. He took out his flute, playing a catchy little tune, one of which he had used to signal to his friends when they'd been pickpocketing the streets of London, before this whole misadventure had begun. And he was still hidden behind the tree.

"What's that noise?" he heard Tootles ask.

"S-Sounds like..." began Twins hopefully.

Peter slowly emerged from the tree trunk, still playing the flute. He crossed his legs casually, smirking his cocky smirk.

The other boys gasped and rushed toward him. "Peter!"

Slightly was the first to reach him, throwing his arms around his friend. As the rest of the crew gathered around for their own sort of embrace, Peter clapped Slightly on the back and grinned from ear to ear.

"Hallo, lads!" he greeted joyfully, remembering his anguish when he'd thought he would never see them again.

Curly approached him, second oldest, and openly stared. "How'd you get out've the cave?"

Peter shrugged. "Ah, the orb took a bit of a knock," he explained simply, relishing every second of their admiring looks when he acted as if the transition had been no large feat.

Tootles met his gaze, awed. "You went back to London?" he exclaimed.

"Yep. And I got you all something." Peter popped open the leather bag and began handing them their gifts.

The Indians crowded around, Aaya at their frontlines, eager to see the objects from the foreign land.

"One of those new-fangled pen knives for you, Slightly. _The Arabian Nights _for Mister Toots'. Greenwich mountain compass for you, Nibs. Curly..." Peter locked eyes with his friend and long-time rival, and the blonde-haired boy smiled back, genuinely glad to see him, even after all their arguments together. "...Harmonica."

Peter handed him the gift, knowing full well that Curly had always envied his flute-playing. He'd delight in a new instrument to try and best him at, something he could call his own, not a copy of Peter's favorite hobby.

Curly nodded, and Peter saw he understood exactly why this present had been chosen for him.

"And Foxton's pocket encyclopedia for you, Twins." Peter gave the youngest boy a teasing look as he added, "Two copies."

Twins grinned and accepted the books with a grateful expression.

Now for the best part. "And new shoes for everyone!" Peter finished, and his feet almost left the ground as usual with the sight of the pure jubilance coming from his friends' reactions. They cheered loudly, making the Indians strain even harder to see what Peter spoke of.

"And the orb?" Curly inquired.

Peter raised an eyebrow. "Buried under a thousand tons of Earth, I expect."

"How did you get back, then?" Aaya, or Tiger Lily, asked, watching him with equal or more admiration than the boys.

Peter feigned indifference as he told his tale. "I paid a visit to Fludd's friends," he said, blurring the details a bit. "When they weren't looking, I borrowed _their _orb and...hid it in a place in London no one would ever think to look." No need to say where, exactly, or go into the fact that Fludd's friends _couldn't _discover his thievery; they weren't there.

"Why, Peter?" Curly asked, shaking his head as if it were a stupid choice to return.

Peter glanced over his shoulder to where Tinkerbell floated near the tree. "'Cos I promised a friend I'd keep the aliens away."

_"Thank you, Peter," _Tinkerbell chimed for the second time that day.

Peter nodded to her and caught Aaya eyeing the tree-spirit as well, smiling as if she knew just what he meant. She should. She was the only other person who had befriended Tink.

"But...why did you come back?" Slightly demanded. "Now you're stuck here."

Peter narrowed his eyes. "I wasn't gonna leave you snipes to have all the fun without me!"

"What fun?" Tootles scoffed.

Peter stared at them, completely baffled. How could they be so blind to the fact that this was, indeed, the better world? He'd had a few days to think it over since the cave-in, to be sure.

"Are you mad?" Peter rebuked them. "Neverland is filled with adventures; we haven't even scratched the surface!"

He saw their eyes fill with the memories of adrenaline they'd felt as they slung rocks at the pirates in the caves; taken part in a crocodile hunt; gone to war fighting side-by-side with the Indians against the crew of the _Jolly Roger_; kidnapped Peter himself, restoring his memories to him.

"There's a million islands," Peter went on, getting into it. "With a different adventure on each and every one!" Here it came. "And d'you know what the best part is?"

They waited, listening intently, all smiles.

"We never have to grow up!" Peter announced earnestly. His favorite bit. "We can do whatever we like, live by our own rules, with no adults here to cheat us!" The big finish was in order. "This is our world, pure and fair."

Eagerness crackled the air between them. The orphans he'd grown up with—these forgotten ones, these Lost Boys—were just as ready to begin a life full of magic and endless days of childlike discovery as he was. The way they looked at him, hung on his every word-even Curly-confirmed it: he was their leader, and they would follow him through each adventure with the willing, gay, innocent hearts of boys who were on the edge of adulthood, but were now gifted to live in a land that kept them just on the side of that line to be children forever.

Merely thinking about it lifted Peter into the air an inch or two. "Now, I'm going to look for a secret camp." He gestured over his shoulder with his flute-holding hand. "All who's with me, raise your right hand, and shout _Neverland_!"

"NEVERLAND!" cried the boys, looking thoroughly satisfied. Curly, of all people, looked the most excited.

Now Curly's huge smile disappeared and horror replaced it. "Peter, look!"

He was staring at the ground beneath Pan's feet.

When the other boys looked confused, Curly explained in a thin, breathless voice, "Where's his shadow?"

Peter glanced down with them, and to his utter, heart-stopping confusion, he realized that the shadow Curly spoke of no longer existed. It was gone. He was two inches above the air, the sunlight actually _facing _him, draping over him, and where his shadow should have been long and obvious, there was none. Peter tensed and looked back up at his men, dread filling his heart.

"What else did you do in London, Peter?" Tootles almost whispered.

Peter shook his head. "I-I...I don't know. I didn't do this."

_"The orb!" _Tinkerbell called from above. _"It's left your shadow behind."_

The boys looked up, and Aaya did the same. Apparently they'd heard her. While the crew watched her, transfixed-they had never heard her speak, nor really seen her before as Peter's friend-Tiger Lily and Peter held a small huddle/conference with the tree-spirit.

"How, Tink?" said Peter.

She flew to his eyeline and replied, "_Peter, did you notice how pieces of that room never returned with us? As if the orb hadn't taken anything else but ourselves?"_

Peter waited for her to continue, giving a slight nod. His legs were shaking only a bit. He didn't like this at all. He felt incomplete-a freak of some kind, as if the power to fly and the non-human magic running through his veins wasn't enough.

_"The orb felt your will to leave the house untouched. It had to take something from us to sustain that power from sucking a portion of the things around it in with you. Your shadow would do._"

"He is all right, then?" Aaya (Tiger Lily) asked in her peculiar Native American accent, dipping her head in anxiety. "He does not need his shadow?"

_"We'll see," _Tinkerbell responded. She looked at the boy again. _"Try flying again, Peter."_

Peter didn't have to close his eyes to think a happy thought now. He immediately rocketed upward, lifting a few feet off the ground before touching back down easily. It gave him great satisfaction, seeing the Indians and his crew stare at him in such admiration when he did that.

Tinkerbell waited a moment before going on. She watched him. _"It hasn't affected you yet. Your innocence is stronger than the elders thought._"

Peter felt he should thank her for the compliment, but how did one take a compliment regarding something he really hadn't done to himself? He'd been born with the innocence every child had. It just so happened he cherished it much, much more than any other would. In the end, he never really _wanted _to grow up at all. He never _wanted _to wait until he was older to be Jimmy's partner, of the opinion that, being as young as he was, it was be the perfect time to be the man's equal; in fact, it made him even better in his own eyes.

"So he will be fine?" Tiger Lily checked again, pressing for a straight answer.

Peter was more concerned about something else Tink had said, along the same lines. "What hasn't affected me?"

"_The loss of your shadow. Tree-spirits are born without such things. Sometimes, depending on the light, we have flickers of shadows. But we're so small, we have no need of one. You should feel fine, but it is just another thing you will no longer have keeping you mainly human, Peter."_

Peter blinked, taking that in. No longer being mostly human sounded unnerving. He didn't want to be fully tree-spirit. Robbing him of his memories, the elders of Tinkerbell's kind had emptied his mind of so much, once, that-Curly and the others had assured him-he really had believed himself to be a tree-spirit at some points. Because of this, he had acted more childlike and immature than he could ever remember being since becoming an expert pickpocket. Even thinking back on it made him feel embarrassed. He'd played the fool, insulting his dearest friends out of pure boyish glee in the satisfaction of judging them by their looks and voicing it to get a reaction. "Ugly Mugs" he'd called them. He'd even thought the Chief Indian had been wearing a party dress, cockily mocking him in one of the huts, poking fun at their language and being a general rascal of sorts. Idiot.

That meant that-past all the experience and memory stored up in his brain he'd had as an orphan living by his wits and the streets beside his companions, seeing and doing things a young one would believe either incredibly enjoyable or awfully unspeakable-he was just a regular, arrogant little fun-loving _child_, even if he was nearly fourteen. A child with a need for being the center of attention and having full faith that he was the best there ever was. _No wonder Curly thinks me unbearable._

Tinkerbell seemed to be listening to his thoughts. _"Without your shadow—one of the largest things that separates tree-spirits from being almost fully humanoid—Peter, the mineral dust will continue to make changes in you until..."_

"Until I act so _innocent_ I'm not myself anymore," Peter finished for her, a bit bitterly. "I need my shadow to keep the dust at bay."

Tinkerbell didn't reply, nodding to his sullenly.

Slightly, Tootles and the others had been listening; Tinkerbell's voice had sounded in their minds as well to give explanation.

"That's it, then," Peter decided, turning to his crew. "I've got to go back to London, get my shadow."

"How?" Aaya mumbled. "You said the orb was crushed beneath the earth."

Peter glanced at her over his shoulder. "Yeah, well, I'm gonna get it out. There isn't another way to the mainland, is there?"

Tiger Lily was silent, staring at Tinkerbell now.

Peter looked between them, noticing the uncertainty in the Indian princess' dark eyes. "Is there?" he repeated.

"When the Kaw Tribe first began protecting the tree-spirits," Aaya began, with another furtive glance at Tink, "the tree-spirits spoke of a way the orb could have its power. The way we could go back."

"What is it?" Curly demanded.

"And why haven't you tried it yet?" Twins added.

"Because..." Tiger Lily said slowly, her accent fumbling her words, "...we do not have the power of flight."

All eyes immediately riveted onto Peter. Usually he would enjoy that, but now he felt uncomfortable.

"Go on," he ordered quietly.

Tinkerbell took over. _"Peter," _she said, _"how much do you know about the study of stars?"_

Peter tapped his fingers limply against his side, using energy he didn't know where to put. "Um...not much, I'm afraid."

_"The stars are different here," _Tinkerbell went on, _"than they are in your world. Dr. Fludd explained it best. The closest to Neverland...is the moon out?" _

She flew upward, and Peter glanced at his friends. "Wait here," he told them, and lifted into the air to follow Tink.

They stayed just above the nearest tree, looking up. Sure enough, the moon was out.

_"D'you see those two stars, Peter? To the left of the moon?_"

Peter squinted a little. In Neverland, the stars could be seen even in daytime because, if you looked high enough, the silk-blue sky faded to blackish-blue, the nighttime color, and one could see every single star. It was like looking down on a field just _filled _with fireflies, to the point where sometimes there was more light than there was dark.

"Yes," he said, noticing two stars much, much bigger than they should be, looking from their view to be about two feet to the left of the crescent moon.

_"The second star. The larger one. Do you see it?"_

"The one to the right?" Peter suggested, pointing.

"_Yes. If you have enough speed, energy, and innocence..._"

Innocence. Peter was beginning to grow tired of that word. It was all but ruining him.

_"...you can fly through it to the mainland. To your world."_

"To London," Peter murmured.

_"But only for those who can reach it. Those who can fly. Like you and I."_ Tinkerbell smiled at him; it was just visible behind her bright blue glow.

They drifted down to their companions, and Peter explained what he had learned.

Of course, Slightly was the first to ask questions, fingering his new pen-knife. "Won't that be a bit bright for you, Peter? Flying into a star as big as that?"

The others glowered at him.

"What?" he said indignantly.

Peter fought a smirk. "I'll just have to close my eyes, I s'pose."

_"The best time to do it is when the moon is full," _Tinkerbell said. _"We'll have the best chance of getting through. Without a full moon glow, the star may not have enough power to shoot us to your world **and **back._"

"When will that be?" Curly raised both eyebrows.

Everyone watched Tinkerbell, waiting intently for an answer.

She was reluctant to give it. _"In about 12 months._"

"Twelve months?" Peter echoed, horrified. "That's a whole year's time!"

_"If you choose to go any sooner, Peter, I can't guarantee we'll return to Neverland,"_ Tinkerbell warned.

The Indians, his crew, Tinkerbell, and Tiger Lily all watched him, waiting for his reaction.

Peter was furious. He couldn't have tried getting out of that cave with the orb. He just had to take the high road, let his friends out first. Now the safest way back to London, to his shadow and his own sanity for future days, was completely out of the question.

And who knows how many things the mineral dust could use his innocent heart to change in him in an entire 365 days?

Nevertheless, Peter was determined to fight it. At least the others hadn't noticed his mouth full of baby teeth yet.

"Second star to the right it is, then," he decided.


	4. Chapter 4: Changes for Peter

_London, 1905_

"Story! Story time, Uncle, please!"

Mrs. Mary Darling glanced at the family friend, their roommate of sorts, and smiled. "I really must tell them you aren't their uncle, James."

James Barrie smiled back and waved a hand dismissively, sitting in the nursery chair beside the fire. "Don't bother, Mary, it's quite all right. In fact, you know, I do believe your daughter has already come to terms with that knowledge," he teased.

"Tell us a story, Uncle Barrie!" demanded a small, redheaded boy, his face dotted with freckles.

"Oh, I don't know," James chuckled. "Suppose your sister gives it a go, eh?"

"Yes, yes!" cried the boy, and began jumping up and down.

George Darling, the father of the household, stuck his head in the doorway. "Little less noise, there, children. Settle down."

Another boy, the middle child with black-brown hair and bright, intelligent blue eyes sat up, already in bed for the night. "Father, come and listen!"

"Oh? Listen to what?"

"A story!" the adolescent girl near the foot of James' chair announced.

"Who by?" George asked, looking a tad distracted. He had forgotten to let Nathaniel out, and the St. Bernard was certain to wake the neighbors any second now with his indignant baying.

"Uncle Barrie will tell it!" the girl exclaimed, tapping Barrie's knee with her rose-petal soft hands.

"No, no, no," Barrie chided good-naturedly. "I thought you could tell the story tonight, pretty one."

"Better make up your minds soon, then," George said stiffly, about to march back downstairs. "I've got business to tend to."

"George, dear," Mary pleaded. "Just one story. For the children."

George caught his lovely wife's eye and sighed. "Suppose you tell me what this story is about first, that I may decide whether or not to listen?" he inquired of the youngsters.

The littlest one was bouncing up and down on his bed. "Captain Hook, Captain Hook!" he begged.

"No, the Indians! The Kaw people!" the dark-headed lad protested.

James smiled ever wider, and when these characters were mentioned, he got that odd twinkle in his eye, with secrets hidden beneath its shine that the girl at his feet could never seem to bring into the open.

"Peter Pan," suggested the girl casually, and immediately the entire room was in chaos.

"_Peter_!" shouted the youngest. "Yes, yes, yes, yes! Tell us about Peter, Uncle, go on!"

"Champion!" cried the second boy, leaping from his covers. "Pan and Hook and the Kaw Tribe!"

"The cave-in!" added the girl. "The fight for the orb!"

"No, no, the tree-spirit village!" insisted the black-headed boy.

"Oh, let's don't hear that tale tonight," Mary chided beneath the noise, barely heard.

Her daughter spoke with more volume on her mother's behalf, seconding her statement. "Yes, that's a perfectly dreadful story!"

"Is not!" argued the middle child.

"It most certainly is!" The girl glared at him.

"What's so dreadful, then?"

"All the tree-spirits perish!"

"Only mostly!"

"And the Indians lose a battle with the pirates!" the girl shot back. "Do let's hear about the cave-in, Uncle Barrie, please," she shook his knee, and her large, night-sky-colored eyes reached for his gaze.

"Enough!" George Darling scolded from the door. "Peter Pan! What nonsense!" The very mention of the flying boy set his blood boiling.

"Oh, George!" Mary gasped, afraid he would shatter her childrens' imaginations.

"It isn't, father, he's real!" the girl cried.

"Have some sense, can't you, dear?" he snapped. "It's time you grew up! Peter Pan is a tale for children, and you are becoming a lady."

The girl's lip trembled.

"George," rebuked Mary in a quite, stricken voice. "You have business to tend to, do you not?"

"Mary, the idea of a boy who can fly..."

"George, please."

"Poppycock!" snarled the suited man. "Absolute, unbridled poppycock! Peter Pan is make believe!" he went on, facing his children. "He is not any more alive than fairies!"

"Tree-spirits," said James Barrie quietly, rocking slowly in his chair.

"Pardon?" George, flustered, glanced at their house inmate, slightly embarrassed by his outburst. But not, you see, enough to take it back. He and Barrie did not get along very well. He sometimes thought his three children's adoration for the funny little man was meant for him instead, and was wasted on the storyteller.

"Tree-spirits," repeated Barrie calmly. "They are not fairies, not exactly. They are called tree-spirits, because they live among the tallest, most mysterious trees in the Neverland."

The girl gave a satisfied nod.

"See here, sir!" George snapped, completely enraged now. "What do you mean, sharing our home and filling my childrens' heads with such foolishness?"

"George!" Mary cried.

James Barrie's brown mustache twitched a little, and the girl knew he was battling the urge to smile. "Temper, you know, is a weapon that we hold by the blade."

The girl exchanged a befuddled glance with her brothers, and the elder of the boys seemed to be trying to make sense of Barrie's statement.

But George Darling was not, by any means, an unintelligent man. He caught the look of admiration his daughter gave to her adopted "Uncle", as if she had just figured out what he'd meant.

In a sudden burst of the aforementioned weapon that was his temper, George pointed at his daughter and said in a terrifyingly quiet voice, "This will be your last night in the nursery. It's time you grew up."

"No!" cried the boys, but it had been decided.

When George had left the room, with Mary after him in a fit of outrage, the girl put her face in her hands so that none of the others would see her cry.

"My," said Barrie quietly, with a tender look at his self-proclaimed niece, "it is already midnight. How time flies."

The girl did not look up, tears dripping off her chin. But she heard him all the same.

"It flies," Barrie went on, "almost as quickly as Peter himself, when he flew to the mysterious house to hide his orb."

Here the girl peeked out from between her fingers, immediately enchanted.

The boys settled down, for both of them could smell a story closing in.

"The house was quite dusty that year," James continued. "And Peter thought he had chosen the perfect place for his orb. You see, he had supposed it to be abandoned."

The girl had stopped crying and was watching him now, her hands in her lap.

"It wasn't," she said quietly, sniffling the last of her sorrow away.

Barrie smiled. "No," he said slowly. "It wasn't. Heavens, no. For a nameless man stood in the doorway of the room, and when Peter saw him he drew his trusty knife. And what did the man say, seeing the boy for the first time?"

"He said, 'What are you doing, lad?'" The girl answered.

"And what did Peter do, I wonder."

"He was so surprised to see him he couldn't speak," the middle child offered from the bed, his eyes still full of sympathy for his sister.

"Indeed he was." Barrie grinned and continued the story, (little did the children know the truth behind its details, and that it had all really happened only a year ago) all the way up to the moment Peter had raised his knife to hit the orb. "...And what did he say to the man, did Peter, when he was prepared to exit our world?"

"Nothing," the girl said, all smiles and cheer now. Her eyes had a twinkle of their own about them. She knew this story by heart. "He smiled at the man and he nodded, for he was saying a silent farewell."

"Excellent; so he was," Barrie agreed. "And as sorry as the man was to see the boy go, he could see that Peter was ready to leave..."

"'...for what troubles a grown-up will never trouble a child,'" said the children unanimously, grinning at each other as they recited their memorized line.

"Quite right it won't!" declared Barrie, chuckling. "And tell me, my dear, what was so odd about Peter's farewell smile?"

The girl's own smile shone as she replied, getting to her personal favorite bit, "He had all of his baby teeth. Every single one."

* * *

_ Neverland, 1905_

Curly wasn't sure how to get out of this one.

Getting into the log had seemed a brilliant idea at the time. He could fit into his own tree slide back at the secret camp, couldn't he? So this should have been easy. And he could catch the robin he'd been hunting.

Unfortunately he didn't find enough room for his legs to tuck up, so his feet showed from one end of the log while his blonde, curly hair stuck up at the other. His always-reddened nose grew even redder with embarrassment when Aaya approached the log.

"Cur-ly," she said, frowning, and his name sounded funny with her Native American tone, "what are you doing in the sycamore trunk?"

"Does it matter?" he snapped back, knowing full well he looked ridiculous. And in front of Tiger Lily, of all people to stumble across him. "Here, help me out, will you?"

The Indian princess was trying not to smile. "Let your body go limp. Your arms and your legs."

Curly knew she couldn't see him rolling his eyes, but he felt it would relieve him of stress if he did so anyway. He obeyed, slackening his limbs.

A few seconds later he slipped out of the log, slick as if he were covered in butter, as Aaya heaved it up against an actually-upright tree.

"Are you all right?" she asked.

"'Course." Curly brushed off his Indian tunic torso and felt his glowering eyebrows raise a little when he saw her expression.

She bit her lip.

"What?" Curly blinked, and felt his mouth curl into a smile. "It wasn't funny."

Aaya turned away, blushing, and he heard her let out a huff of a laugh.

"Aaya!" Curly protested, and he grinned. "It wasn't that funny!" he repeated.

"Psst!"

They fell silent and glanced to the left.

Twins' head popped up from a nearby holly bush. He winced as it pricked his skin. "Ouch. Here, you lot, get low!"

Tiger Lily met Curly's eyes frantically. "Is it-"

Curly nodded.

A loud, bird-like sound ricocheted through the trees.

"Run!" Twins shouted.

The other boys exploded from the foliage. Slightly hurried out from between two large boulders; Nibs dragged himself out of an abandoned croc's burrow (in Neverland, you see, the crocodiles were gigantic, six-legged, and they lived in burrows near water; in this case it was near a small creek), and Tootles dropped from the branches of a tree.

Curly led them through the forest, each child running as if their lives depended on it. Which they basically did.

Aaya stumbled and Curly and Tootles pulled her to her feet, racing along at top speed.

The monstrous-bird-like noise came again, and Twins shuddered, grabbing onto the back of Nibs' torso, letting the older boy pull him along to keep up.

Curly forced himself not to raise his head. "Don't look up!" he called to his friends, his voice that of one who should not be ignored. "Keep your eyes straight!"

"Help!" Slightly yelled.

He had gotten his foot caught on a root. None of the boys wore shoes now; they had learned to enjoy the earth between their toes. It made it less easy to trip, but Slightly was usually the exception to this theory.

"Go on without me!" Slightly wailed.

Curly rolled his eyes. "Idiot!" he snapped. "You're gonna get us caught!"

"Cur-ly, we have to move!" Aaya shrieked.

Curly heaved Slightly to a standing position and the group began running again.

"Too late!" Nibs yelped. "We've been spotted!"

A whirring sound issued.

"_Get down_!" Curly ordered.

Everyone immediately hit the dirt, arms covering their heads.

All the same, Twins was a bit slow.

SPLACK!

The young boy lifted his head, his face covered with orange splatters, tangerine juice dribbling down his cheeks like liquid sunlight.

The bird-like noise came for a third time. A crow. A raven-haired boy of eternally thirteen landed on the ground in the middle of the ruckus. His fine suit from the year before was gone; he wore his old clothes. The ends of the legs of his trousers were ripped and dirty, and below them he was barefoot. Ivy vines spiraled down his legs, curling in a permanent cling at the frayed ends of his pants. The ends of his hair glittered silver, almost blonde now, and some of the tips of his bangs were beginning to curl just a little.

"Thought you could hide from me, did you?" crowed Peter. "Yes, that's good, bow before me!" he let out another laugh, and toward the end of it there was a gurgling sound...almost like a baby's first giggle.

Aaya raised her head first, giving him that queer look she had been for half the year now. "Are you harmed, Twins?" she checked.

Twins was licking the orange juice from around his mouth where the mango was spilling its smashed contents down his facial features. "Not really," he admitted, blinking a few times to make sure none of the juice got in his eyes.

"That was the second time today, Peter," Nibs said, sitting up next.

"You could've hurt someone," Curly added, pinching his eyebrows together.

"Yes," agreed Slightly, who was examining his ankle. "Me."

Ignoring Slightly's words and addressing Curly's, Peter walked up to Twins and bent down, hands on his knees.

"Yeah, but I didn't," he said, his British accent still leaving the a out of the word yeah when he used it. "You're all right, ain't you, Twins?" He clapped the boy on the back heartily.

"Where d'you find these?" Twins said for reply, pulling some bits of mango out of his hair and taking a bite. "It's first class!"

"I can show you if you like," Peter offered, helping him up.

"Aren't you going to apologize, Peter?" Curly demanded. "You just floored him with a mango!"

"I'm all right," Twins protested.

Peter shrugged. Then, still without a proper apology, he shot into the air. "How about those mangos, then, eh? Come on, it's past the lagoon!"

"Peter," Curly said between his teeth. "We can't fly."

"Spoiling everything, aren't you?" Peter's eyebrows knit together and he frowned. "Haven't you tried?"

"We will need the mineral dust to do what you do, Peter," Tiger Lily replied, putting a calming hand on Curly's shoulder. "And the tree-spirits are no longer friendly to the Kaw."

Peter blinked, as if coming out of a dream, and he slowly drifted to the ground. "Right," he said, shaking his head like he had water in his ear. "Right, yeah." He exhaled, closed his eyes for a moment, and then opened them. "Aaya, what day is it?"

Tiger Lily's spirits lifted. Perhaps he wasn't completely lost yet. He was losing the battle to keep his mind clean of untamed, blissful innocence, but none of them had the heart to say this to him.

It was scary, what the mineral dust was doing to him. The way he sometimes woke in the boys' home under the ground, unsure of where he was or how he got there, sometimes even challenging one of them with his knife and demanding to know why they'd "kidnapped him", then collapsing and moments later being his old self again. The way he would take to the skies and spend hours missing in action, then return and tell them of all the adventures he'd had, the places he'd discovered without them. When they asked him questions about these adventures the next day, sometimes he wouldn't know at all what they were talking about. Twins had confided to Aaya that Peter yelled odd things in his sleep, and sometimes they would wake him out of such nightmares to find tears staining his face. He would explain that he had seen his mother in his dreams-a woman he had actually never met-in a room he claimed to recognize, with another boy sleeping in a bed he swore was once his own. He said that in his dreams, he was flying outside his mother's window, and when he tried to get in to her and the strange boy that had replaced him, he would find the window barred, as if to keep him out specially. His nightmare was that he would pound on the glass, until his hands were either numb or his knuckles torn up beyond repair, again and again, but his mother would not even turn her head to see him. "His eyes are all red and bloodshot when talks about it," Twins had said fearfully, making Aaya believe he must not have been 'all there' in his own mind whenever they woke him.

Peter acted strangely too. You could tell when he forgot himself, let his constant guard down, and let some of the innocence corrupt his mind, trickling through and banishing memory and common sense. He would let out his child's-first-laugh, rocket into the air, and disappear, sometimes for an entire day. Other times the innocence crept in, Peter would flip his dagger, showing off, and drag his poor companions on some wild chase, calling them "the Lost Boys", something they took as a personal insult, a jibe at their being orphans, and, at times, even claiming that they were on the hunt for Indians. This comment got Peter a lecture from the Chief with Tiger Lily translating, a lecture he didn't listen to for more than five minutes before flying off again.

Another day, in the summer, Aaya had caught him about to slice the picture of his mother in his father's watch to ribbons, standing alone in the forest with his dagger raised over the open watch, his brown eyes flaming with hate. She had, of course, stopped him, pulling his arm back. He had jerked it free easily, pushing her to the ground with very little effort, not even glancing at her. Later, coming to his senses, he had apologized in a genuine way, a way that reminded her of the days when he still had his shadow and his eyes were never dancing with such wild merriment at every new day.

Parts of these changes made Peter more enjoyable to be around. The children in the Kaw Tribe, the toddlers and forever-gay little ones, absolutely adored Peter, and often followed him around the village whenever he visited. He would play his flute when he appeared in the camp, strolling up and down the clearing, sometimes even walking backwards, seeming to know where every root, rock, and tree was so that he dodged them without stumbling or colliding with one. He flew more than he walked now, though. It seemed all the happiness he had (over what he could not really decide) filled him up with such glee that he could barely keep his feet on the ground. He would always greet Aaya first in the Tribe, before even speaking to anyone else. This could be because of the fact that she was the only other person besides Shaka (the Tribe's "Holy Man") who could speak English. He would bring her things, too, like a shell necklace he insisted was made by strange creatures he called mermaids. Other times he would come bearing actual tiger lilies, orange blossoms with black markings, and bow to her gallantly, something the lads explained was done in London, offering her the flowers, and she would have her women friends in the Tribe braid them into her hair so that Peter could admire it the next morning. But he always seemed to forget that he had given them to her, or else ignored the change in her appearance with boyish obliviousness.

He had been teaching his "Lost Boys" how to sword fight (even though their previous adult guardian, Jimmy Hook, had already taught them more than young boys should know), and sometimes he even disarmed them and acted as if he would actually strike them with that same impish, happy gleam in his eyes that was so unsettling.

Curly was the most irritated by Peter's newfound personality. Aaya knew it was because the boy was afraid for his friend. Rivals or not, Curly looked up to Peter. He had told her so before. "He's gone absolutely mad," Curly would say. He often was the one who tried to get Peter to act the way he had before. Once he had found Peter throwing his knife against the largest tree in the forest, pulling it out, turning on his heel and slicing the initials P.P. in the trunk, and doing it all over again. Each time he hit the tree, he would engrave his initials an inch higher. Half the trunk was already covered with them.

When Curly tried to get Peter to leave the tree and get rid of that bloodthirsty glow in his eyes, and do something he would have done without innocence clogging his brain, the conversation went something like this:

Curly: "Hullo, Peter..."

Peter: "Hullo."

Curly: "Aren't you tired?"

Peter: "I don't get tired."

Curly: "...Right. D'you want to see if the Indians have anything worth trading?"

Peter: "Indians?"

Curly: "Aaya and her lot?"

Peter: "That's a funny name. Aaya."

Curly: "Yes, Peter, you already know her."

Peter: "...I do. Yeah, you're right."

Curly: "Good. Well, er, me and the boys were going to..."

Peter: "The Lost Boys, d'you mean?"

Curly: "We aren't Lost Boys, Peter. We're your friends."

Peter: "Friends in bad shape, I say. D'you even know how to throw one of these?"

Here he would hold up his dagger.

Curly: "Stand still a moment, you mutt, and I'll show you."

Peter: "Eh?"

Curly: "Nothing."

It went on like that for several minutes, until Curly just gave up.

The only thing Peter ever knew for sure about, or even acted like himself over, was when the "Lost Boys" spoke of Hook.

That single name would fill Peter with such bitterness that it crowded out the innocence making his thoughts fuzzy, and he would lose the merriment in his eyes and his baby-teeth smile would disappear. His hand would go to his dagger, and he would set his jaw.

"Hook," he would murmur, twice, and then blink in that I've-just-come-up-from-being-underwater way.

But they would have to talk with him at great lengths about the dastardly pirate in order to keep him in his normal state.

Thinking of all this in a few heartbeats, Tiger Lily still felt hope when Peter asked her what day it was. He had been trying to fight the innocence, and in order to show it he would ask her that same question each morning and night.

"It is the day of the full moon, Peter," she finally replied.

Peter now seemed to know exactly where he was, who he was, what his purpose was, and what he needed to do.

He nodded to her. "Then it's time to go."


	5. Chapter 5: The Darling Home

Slightly had only been partially correct.

The second star to the right _was _the brightest flash of light ever to try and penetrate Peter's eyeballs. That and the orb. What on earth was it with Neverland and blinding entrances and exits? It was as if the planet were saying, "Welcome to a completely strange, terrifying new world, and to make matters worse for funsies, go on and lose your sight before you get there, will you?" Ridiculous.

_"Focus, Peter,_" Tinkerbell instructed as they flew toward the star.

Peter was trying, but it was incredibly hard to do.

"I'm hungry, y'know," he announced to no one in particular, not necessarily Tink, not necessarily himself.

Then he shook his head. Worried about food now, was he? Like a spoiled brat. _You're going mad, _he warned himself for the thousandth time that past year. _Shake it off._

He _couldn't_! It felt so good, but so sickening at the same time. Like someone was again opening his mind and rearranging everything, replacing the fuzzy bits with smothering, sugary happiness he barely knew what to do with. He even woke without remembering his own first name at times. He'd find his tongue at the ready to call his crew Lost Boys instead of _their_ actual names. What had he even _meant_, given them such a cruel name? He had nothing to brag about or tease them over; he was in the exact same situation: no family, nowhere to really call home, no normal life to lead. He laughed at every inopportune moments, moments when, what seemed to be hilarious to him at the time, really looked foolish to his friends and other ordinary people. Like a sleepwalker talking out of his head, looking back on it and realizing that no, he had _not _made a shred of sense, and yes, the sane people _were _in the right all along.

And as if these traits weren't humiliating enough for a boy his age, he caught himself _crowing_ at the most random of times. Yes, he'd invented an entirely new sound of his own in his spare time. When he should have been finding adventures with his friends, or planning out exactly how to regain his shadow and stop this mess, or even thinking actual normal thoughts _not _to do with funny appearances or what made the world go 'round or which color he liked best, he had created a sound like a rooster, or a new breed of bird.

"This has got to end, Tinkerbell," he said determinedly as they floated forward with amazing speed. "Oy, why don't tree-spirits act this dopey?"

_"I hardly think it's 'dopey', Peter," _she answered sympathetically. _"You've just fallen prey to how the mineral dust is using..."_

"My innocence," Peter finished angrily. "But I'm tired of it, Tink; I want it to stop."

He had gaps in a blurry memory of the past year; he was tormented by dreadful dreams with scenes in them that he knew full well had never happened to him. Or had they? No, of course not. He had no mother. His mother was dead. Jimmy killed his father. Hook...all he had to do was think of the man, and the name linked all his memories of the past to his brain, his burning hatred keeping him in the present and pushing the innocence down a notch.

It was a disaster, a living nightmare his life had become. Peter felt ill one moment and more alive than any human being in existence the next.

These changes would kill him before long; they were happening all too quickly! He felt helpless, hopeless, and ready to cry. _Cry_, for heaven's sakes! He was thirteen, and if he didn't live where time did not move, he would have turned fifteen not so long ago. Crying should be _difficult _for him. The tree-spirit magic took all of his emotions and cranked them up to 300 percent. If he was upset, you had better believe he was _devastated_, and if he was angry, you'd best run while you still had feeling in your legs. It was a disaster.

The idiotic way he acted...it was absolutely mortifying. The sudden flirtatiousness that came over him sometimes, the boyish show-off that had somehow emerged in Peter's regular personality, was all but ruining the friendship he had with Aaya. Tiger Lily must not know what to think, him bringing her little tokens like...what were they, _real_ tiger lilies? Ordinary lilies? Flowers of some sort. He couldn't recall. And then like the scoundrel he'd turned into, he ignored her generous show of gratitude the next day! He distinctly remembered purposefully and haughtily pretending not to notice her braids with his flower gifts tied into them multiple times. Some part of his immature new brain must have thought this would make her try harder, gain him even more attention, when all it really must have done was confuse the poor girl! The mineral dust had turned him into an absolute dog.

Thinking of the awful magic, he remembered the phial in his pocket, filled with mineral dust. Tinkerbell and Tiger Lily had brought it to him "in case of emergencies". He never wanted to see the cursed stuff again, so naturally he had refused.

_"Peter," _Tinkerbell had said gently, _"it will give us energy. If something happens, we'll need the mineral."_

So he had taken it, bidding a short goodbye to his friends, repeating Hook's name in his mind to shove innocence away in order to speak and act the way he used to, apologizing for his antics through the past year and vowing to return with his shadow, making everything all right again.

Now they were soaring toward the star, and as they grew closer, Peter felt an icy chill go down his spine.

_"Close your eyes, Peter!" _warned Tinkerbell. "_Don't look!_"

Peter averted his gaze obediently. Nevertheless, the flash pierced his eyelids as he shot at light speed through the star. A high-pitched musical sound drifted through his ears, like the most talented flute player was having a concert in his head.

This broke his concentration on Hook and all the bad memories tying his normal self to his brain.

Instantly the blissful, sickeningly-sweet happiness filled his entire body. It was so intoxicating, so _wonderful_ for a few heartbeats. And all logic and trace of the old, cocky, let's-get-to-business-and-do-it-the-right-way Peter completely and utterly vanished.

In that one moment: he felt like laughing until he couldn't breathe; he felt like running until he dropped; he felt like flying higher and higher until he couldn't see the land below; he felt like he'd bested a million men at a fencing duel; fought a dozen villians and single-handedly cut them all down with one hand behind his back; he felt as if he'd taken a warm drink that left a wistful taste lingering in his mouth; he felt like he'd just been offered that one gift he'd always longed for, or received that one compliment you always wanted to hear, the one that made you tingle right down to your toes; he felt as though it were Christmas morning, and every single present he was given was exactly the thing he wanted most; he felt like he would never be anything but joyous ever again. Peter felt like he could do _anything_, and look fantastic doing it, too.

_No, _thought the one piece of Peter untouched by the mineral dust and his cursed innocent heart. _Fight it, Peter, go on, do as you're told. Push it away!_

_What for? _replied his giddy, spellbound other half, and he gave up for the time being.

_"Peter! Peter!" _

_What now? _thought Peter irritably, his eyes still squeezed shut. Who was interrupting that amazing rush he was getting again? Why didn't they go away? Leave him alone to relish it!

_"Peter, open your eyes! Peter! We've made it, Peter!"_

"Made it?" Peter said, his eyes opening. He took a look around. He was floating above the streets of London. "It's a bit dull," he commented. "Where are all the people?"

Tinkerbell. It was she who had been calling him. He could see her now, whipping up and down in front of his eyes.

Peter's head recoiled, leaning backward in the air. "What are you doing, Tink? Oy, stand still a moment! Are you playing a game?"

_"Hook!" _she shouted in his mind. _"James Hook!_"

The happiness was sucked right out of him and he drew his knife.

_"It's all right, Peter; put that away," _Tinkerbell said soberly. _"I had to get your attention," _she added apologetically.

Peter passed a hand over his face, blinking hard a few times. Anger shot through him. "It's all madness, Tink," he complained. "We've gotta find my shadow, quickly. I-I can't keep it back."

"_Do you remember the way?_" Tinkerbell said gently, as if trying to comfort him.

He didn't need comforting. He needed his _mind _back. He needed his shadow. "I think so."

He flew downward, trying to keep to the shadows. It wasn't long before he spotted a gnarled, bare tree, its branches covered with snow, the tendrils curling toward a stained-glass window the longitude and latitude of a full-grown human being.

"There it is," Peter said, taking a deep breath. _Hook, Hook. He murdered my father. He lied to me. He got us into Neverland and started this mess. He threw the watch to the crocodiles. He stole the orb. He destroyed the tree-spirit kingdom. He threatened the Indians. He betrayed us. He used me. He got Fox killed. Hook. Hook._

Those thoughts swirling to the back of his mind, Peter was finally able to focus properly on the task at hand. He landed on the windowsill, not even close to losing his balance this time. He peered in, his eyes growing used to the dark of the nursery without effort. More mineral dust effects. Marvelous.

Quietly, he opened the window. It seemed to open willingly, as if just itching for him to drop in.

When he noticed the rise and fall of three human bodies breathing in the beds, Peter flung his back quickly against the front of the house, the outer wall beside the window. No one must see him. Funny, these additions to the home hadn't been here the first time Peter had entered, a year ago now. They must be part of the family Barrie had mentioned living with him. Well, a room as big as this couldn't stay uninhabited for long anyway. But did the old rogue have to pick a time so recent as _this_ to allow them to use the room? Couldn't he have waited for another year to roll by?

"You go in first," he ordered Tinkerbell, breathing a little more quickly. "You'll make less noise. When you find it, come back and get me. All right?"

_"Try not to get into any mischief, Peter,_" she said agreeably, and she darted through the open window.

This statement of hers would have been teasing under ordinary circumstances. But Peter knew she really was telling him not to cause a ruckus, to grab hold of his mind and mentally step on the innocence trying to infect his being.

Tinkerbell returned a few minutes later. Peter looked at her hopefully.

_"Your shadow is shut up in a drawer in the nursery," _she reported.

"Shut up?" Peter echoed, confused.

"_It's practically alive, Peter," _the tree-spirit replied, also sounding surprised. "_We have to act with caution. You can't wake anyone._"

"Yes. Yeah; right." Peter inhaled, then went inside without so much as a _thump_ when his bare feet hit the rug.

It was nice and warm inside the house, much warmer than the winter city on the other side of the open window. The curtains fluttered in an invisible breeze, stretching toward Peter as he entered. He glanced over his shoulder at them with a warning look, and, as if the soft drapes could actually see the urgency in his dark eyes, they relaxed against the wall again.

Tinkerbell led the way to the vanity and its top drawer, which was shaking slightly, like a mouse was trapped inside and was trying to break out.

Peter took the handle of the drawer while Tinkerbell landed on the vanity, admiring herself in the mirror. Peter snapped his fingers in a dry sort of way, so that they didn't make as loud a clicking sound as usual. She turned her attention back to their mission and bent her head over the drawer, listening.

The racket inside the drawer had gone quiet.

_"Your shadow senses you," _Tinkerbell warned. "_I imagine it won't want to be tied to you again."_

Peter thought it strange, her speaking of a person's _shadow _as if it were some sort of papery human being, but he let it go. He'd seen plenty of weird things by now. "Yeah, well, it'll just have to get used to it," he whispered. "On three, Tink."

Tinkerbell nodded. _"One._"

"Two," Peter mouthed.

_"Three!_"

Peter yanked open the drawer, which was oddly empty. A shadow his exact size and form shot out of it with alarming speed.

Peter, quick-thinking and not really processing that he was about to grab a weightless creature made of darkness, took hold of the shadow's ankle. It almost pulled him off of the floor, but he was used to that feeling.

He dragged it down off the wall and waited, keeping a firm grip on it.

Tinkerbell hovered around it. "_What are you waiting for, Peter?_"

Peter blinked, shaking his head a little in befuddlement. "I dunno," he answered in a soft voice. "Nothing's happened."

"_What do you mean?"_

"I don't know," he repeated, his accent thickening in his confusion. "I...I guess I thought it...th-the shadow...would join up."

"_Like drops of water,_" Tinkerbell suggested.

Peter nodded. "But it's...it's not."

A snore, particularly loud, sounded from one of the beds, and Peter jerked his head toward the noise, paranoid that he would be caught.

"_Hurry," _Tinkerbell urged. "_Find some way to stick it on._"

Peter snorted skeptically. "It can't be so easy," he argued. "You've never held onto one this fierce." The shadow certainly was putting up a fight, but Peter refused to let it go. The innocence, the power of the mineral dust, was still pushing to clog his thoughts. Touching the shadow wasn't doing anything to help his condition.

Then he got an idea.

"Stick it on," he repeated. "Tink, find something sticky."

"_Sap?_" she suggested, flying toward the coat rack in the corner of the room and searching each pocket in the space of three seconds.

Peter paused, still holding onto his shadow's ankle, and gave her a sarcastic look. "D'you see any trees here?" he grunted.

Tinkerbell was tiny, so her form was hard to focus on, but he could have sworn he saw her roll her eyes. "_I don't hear you coming up with much else. Mind your temper._"

Then she fluttered to the vanity drawer.

Peter gave her his cocky smirk, amused at her motherly tone, and turned to look underneath one of the beds.

Soap. A bar of soap was under the smallest bed, as if someone had tried hiding it in the hopes that they wouldn't have to use it. This thought was so childish and funny to Peter that he almost lost his "higher ground" on the battle for his mind against the innocence, but he repeated Hook's title and regained composure.

Reaching for the soap, Peter rubbed his foot with it, holding the shadow's heel up against his own. It was sticky, no mistake, but the shadow slid away a moment later, showing that it hadn't worked. It made teasing gestures with its hands, mocking him from the carpet.

Peter realized nothing was going to work. The orb had ripped his shadow from him, and nothing would make it part of his body again. He was stuck with his wretched innocent heart clouding his sense for all eternity in timeless Neverland. He would act the fool for the rest of his life, insulting his friends, confusing Tiger Lily, and never changing. He was doomed to be an oddity for the rest of his existence. So much for a life of adventure with his crew.

These thoughts hit him in his most vulnerable, most mineral-dust-covered part of his heart, and he felt cold tears come to his eyes. He would never be the same Peter he was before. How miserable could things get?

He wiped his eyes, inwardly cursing himself for being such an idiot, crying at this eternal age he was. But he couldn't help it. And those ridiculous tears kept coming. Could nothing in his life go right, just for a little while?

He heard the drawer Tinkerbell was in slam shut as a gust of winter wind blew in from the window, but he ignored it, too upset to let her out just yet.

And then a voice rose from one bed over.

"Boy," it said politely, "why are you crying?"


	6. Chapter 6: Peter Meets his Wendy

**(Author's Note: Now, some of the dialogue in this chapter is from Chapter 3: Come Away, Come Away! of J.M. Barrie's original novel that Neverland is based off of, _Peter Pan_. I've made it a bit different; tweaked it because I had to fit it to Charlie Rowe's Peter personality. I think it came out all right, but nothing beats the original. You can read the real chapter, the chapter this one is based off of, in the novel. ~Doverstar)**

* * *

Peter looked up, almost hitting his head on the bedpost. A girl of about thirteen was sitting on the end of her bed, the covers thrown off, in her blue bath robe over a white nightgown and bare feet.

She had eyes bluer than the mermaid lagoon and hair the color of rich tree bark that curled just a little over her shoulders.

If you think Peter's thoughts were mixed up moments ago, you should have taken a look into his mind _now_. He was a mess.

He'd been caught again. Of course he had. He stood up, his hand on the hilt of his dagger. Then he rebuked himself inwardly. _What are you thinking, Peter? You'll stab an innocent girl? Stupid, stupid._

He let go of the dagger, but she didn't seem to notice his weapon.

"Hello," she said, and still she didn't look very bothered that there was a stranger in her room.

Peter was so flustered that some of that mineral dust took hold of him and his newfound flirtatious parts caused him to bow to her, quite the gentleman, and while he was bowing he glanced up at her with that cocky smile springing to his lips. He nodded a greeting.

"What's your name?" he asked her, still using his manners.

She curtsied to him, smiling as she hopped from the bed. "Wendy Moira Angela Darling. What is your name?"

"Peter," he told her, straightening.

Her eyes widened a great deal and Wendy said in a short whisper, "Your full name?"

Peter was so busy watching her facial features change to awe with some admiration, trying to get his bearings, that the forever-adolescent boy took a moment to realize she'd even asked another question.

"Peter," he repeated, and looked at his feet in humiliation when he remembered she'd also asked for his last name, his eyes still on her. "Pan," he added, hiding an embarrassed smile by still glancing down.

"Peter Pan!" Wendy gasped. "You _are_ real! Oh, I always said so!" she clasped her hands together, delighted.

Peter's innocence was swept away by bafflement. "Yes," he stammered. "Yeah. But how did you...?"

"Uncle Barrie told us stories about you!" Wendy explained, overly excited. "He told us how you defeated the pirates and found the Neverland and met Tinkerbell and that you..." she halted here, and her rose-colored lips blossomed into another, even prettier smile. "You can fly," she whispered.

Peter nodded, trying to keep up.

"Can you show me?" she asked courteously.

Peter decided it couldn't hurt, noticing the eagerness dancing in her eyes. He lifted so high into the air he hit his head on the ceiling, and drifted back down again. The adoration of this action in her eyes made him feel all the more pleased.

"How wonderful!" Wendy cried, laughing. Her laughter sounded musical, far prettier than the second star to the right's dazzling tune. "Where do you live, Peter?" It was custom in her family to ask this question; it was held in such polite esteem that it went right along with asking one's name.

Peter obliged, glancing at his shadow. The more he looked at it, lying there bored on the floor, the more he was reminded that his mind was cursed to be innocent and childish forever. This led to some of that innocence grabbing him again, and his mind grew a little fuzzier.

So of course, what with the complicated explanations of the many ways to get in and out of Neverland, the only thing he could think of just then to answer her was to point to the stars and say curtly, "Second to the right, and then straight on 'till morning."

"They put that on the letters? What a funny address." Wendy said with a look of surprise.

"I don't get any letters," Peter replied, looking around and suddenly missing the faint, echoing voice in his mind. Where had Tinkerbell flown off to? He really should find her. They needed to leave, shadow or no shadow.

But Wendy was so sweet, so excited, that he couldn't bear to just leave. She knew him somehow. Barrie. He'd told her everything. Barrie was her Uncle? That didn't line up with what the little man had told him when they'd met. Something strange...

"But your mother must get letters, then, surely?" Wendy suggested.

"I don't have a mother," Peter said bitterly.

Wendy's face flushed when she realized how rude she must have sounded. "Oh. I-I'm sorry, Peter, I'd forgotten. No wonder you were crying!"

"No, um, I...I wasn't crying about my mother," Peter said, looking away. "I never knew her."

"I'm sorry," Wendy said again. "Why were you crying, then?"

"I can't..." Peter blinked, wincing as he tried to push the innocence away again. He pressed a hand to his temple.

It wasn't working.

The innocence required he acted as if he absolutely had to be the center of attention, like every completely-impish youngster would. And since no one else was around, Wendy's attention had to be the one he was after. _Stop, _Peter thought to himself. _This isn't you. You aren't as childish as that. _But he couldn't force it away. What an awful feeling, not to be in control of your own mind!

So to keep Wendy's attention, he had to keep talking. His tongue moved without his registering it. "My shadow," he told her. "It won't stick. It's...really a long story." He huffed a short chortle.

"It's come off?" Wendy acted as if this were an everyday occurrence.

Peter grabbed the shadow's leg and heaved it up for her to see.

"How irritating," she sympathized.

"You've no idea," Peter smirked, scoffing.

"Well...what have you tried?" Wendy checked, observing the shadow with curiosity.

"Something sticky, to sort of...press it on," Peter explained, nodding to the bar of soap.

"Soap?" Wendy said, and she started to smile, as if this were funny.

"Yeah, but it didn't work," Peter growled, glaring at his shadow.

"Of course not," Wendy said simply. She giggled. "Peter, you can't stick it on with soap. I could sew it on, if you like."

Peter didn't know, really, what sewing was. He'd grown up without a lot of actual education, especially when it came to women and girls and their hobbies. He'd lived on the streets, stealing things with his crewmates for Jimmy. For Hook, that is. It occurred to him now, uncomfortably, just how little he knew about the real world. Aside from the art of pickpocketing and how many stores there were in London, which ones were most valuable, and the security procedures for each building. And, of course, how to play the flute. The only thing Hook had ever taught him was how to raid other people's property and how to use a blade.

"What's that?" he asked, rubbing the back of his neck. "Uh, sewing, I mean."

Wendy laughed her merry laugh. "You're dreadfully ignorant."

Peter raised an eyebrow.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry," she said hastily, covering her mouth with her hand. "I can't help it, Peter, you're so queer."

Here he didn't even need the innocence. He bowed again. "Why, thank you."

"And funny," she added, laughing once more. "I always hoped to meet you, you know, and now that you've arrived, you're quite different than I imagined."

"The shadow," he reminded her. He didn't want to hear about how many things James Barrie had revealed to her, how she'd pictured him before they'd even met. And he definitely didn't want to hear he'd disappointed someone else this year.

"Yes, of course," Wendy cleared her throat softly and tentatively reached out for the shadow. "If you could sit down, Peter; that might make it easier, you see," she advised.

Peter sat cross-legged on the floor and she sat across from him, after fetching her sewing kit.

"It shall probably hurt a bit," Wendy informed him. "We wouldn't want you to wake anyone..."

"Don't worry," Peter responded. "I'm not gonna cry." He was still trying to pretend she hadn't seen him crying earlier in the first place.

When she had finished, Peter was cautious to see if it had worked. The shadow didn't slide away as it had before, and Wendy seemed satisfied already with her work. But would it really stay? Could he get his old self back after all?

He lifted a foot. The shadow's foot lifted with it. He waved his arm. The shadow copied him. Peter glanced at the wall, flying over to it, and landed between the other two beds, kicking his feet up a little, and the shadow slapped against the wall itself.

The shadow did exactly as a shadow should for the next few seconds as he experimented with it. Peter felt his tentative hope turn to that telltale glee, as if the innocence were still there, but he could turn it on anytime he wanted now. And he chose to let it in for the moment, enjoying the happiness he felt at the fact that he could, in fact, go home to Neverland now being himself again. What fun he and the boys could have now that he was cured!

He was so overjoyed that the innocence he let in overwhelmed him, and he turned to Wendy with his triumphant, still-cocky smile.

"You see? I knew I could do it!" he announced. "Ah, the cleverness of me!" It was an odd thing to say, not really something he would belt out under usual circumstances, but then, he didn't really care at the time. Everything was going to be fine now.

But Wendy was miffed. "Of course, _I _did nothing," she told him, frowning. "I suppose the shadow decided it was done fooling about on its own, did it?"

"Yeah, you did a bit," Peter said, the _a_ in his _yeah_ still left out, twiddling his fingers, arm outstretched, looking down at the carpet to watch his shadow mimick his hand perfectly. His smirk was still plastered on his pale face, raven-colored bangs falling over his eyes as he glanced floorward.

"Only a _bit_?" Wendy echoed, now thoroughly insulted. How ungrateful men could be! She crossed her arms, waiting for him to notice her hurt, but he just kept testing with his shadow. Finally she became fed up altogether with the strange boy, and went to her bed. "Goodnight, then, _Peter Pan_," she said coolly, and fell silent, pretending to ignore him.

Peter, remembering himself, glanced toward her, his smile disappearing. He'd acted like a whelp once again, and this time he'd _wanted _to. _Idiot._ He let his arm drop and approached her bed, embarrassed with his attitude, stopping when she pulled the covers over her head.

"I didn't mean it like it sounded," he said quietly, looking at the floor again, just to be sure his shadow was still behaving, scratching his head. "I'm sorry."

Wendy didn't respond, but she was listening, with a small teasing smile on her face, the way a girl her age will when she's playing a particularly good game with an unsuspecting lad. Of course, he couldn't see her smile; she was covered with blankets.

Peter took her silence as further proof of her offense, and he mentally scolded himself. "Come on, don't be that way," he told the girl. "I can't help it when I'm happy; when I feel good. I can't control it." He added in a lower voice, eyebrows dipping, "Believe me."

She still didn't reply, but she was intrigued by the mysterious vexation in his voice.

Peter thought of something he'd heard Fox say once, after they'd stolen handbags from two teenage girls years back one morning. He decided it couldn't hurt to repeat it now. The way it sounded in his head; how could she take it the wrong way? It put females in an entirely exalted light.

"You know, Wendy," he said in his most genuine tone, "One girl is worth more than twenty boys."

At last, the blanket mound spoke. "You really think so, Peter?"

Peter thought of Tiger Lily and how kind she'd been to him ever since they'd met, and how helpful Tinkerbell had acted, even after his own antics had gotten her banished from her fellow tree-spirit colony.

"Yes," he said, trying for a smile and letting out a huff of short laughter through his nose. "Yeah, I do."

"That is frightfully sweet of you," Wendy said, and to his indignation she sounded surprised that he had said such a thing. "Peter, you are so kind. For a boy of your size, I mean."

Peter knew she meant "a boy of his _age_", but he couldn't figure out what she was implying by _that_. Girls were a strange lot indeed.

"I've got to get back," Peter said softly. "My crew will be waiting."

"Your crew?" Wendy repeated, confused. "Oh, yes. Your men. The boys you live with?"

"S'pose it figures Barrie would have mentioned them too." Peter muttered, half to himself.

"You know him?" Wendy cried, with a small gasp.

Peter pinched his eyebrows together at her. "Yeah. 'Course. I-I've met him." Fancy Barrie leaving that bit out!

"Have you, Peter, really?" Wendy smiled. "It isn't any wonder, then, how he talks of you so well!"

Peter nodded numbly. Clearly James Barrie had crafted Peter and his life's story into a fairytale of some sort to tell Wendy before bed. Ridiculous.

"What are your crewmates like, Peter?" Wendy said, sitting on the bed as if waiting for a good story.

She patted the spot next to her, and Peter glanced back at the window, eyebrows raised a little anxiously, but he sat beside her and launched into detailed descriptions of his friends. The more he spoke of them, the more he wanted to get back to them and apologize for the idiotic way he'd behaved.

He finished with Curly. "He's the oldest," Peter explained. "Well, um, besides me, I mean. He's got hair that gives him his name, and a reddish nose, like he's always stuffed up..." Wendy chuckled and Peter felt a smile play with his mouth at the sound. "...and we argue a lot, but I can trust him."

It felt good to talk about his friends. It made him realize how much he needed them.

"Where did they all come from?" Wendy asked when he'd begun to trail off. She knew it was bad form to leave the conversation hanging open, without at least changing the subject around a bit.

"Curly was tied in a sack," Peter began. "Wrists tied to his ankles, dropped in a river when Jimmy found 'im."

Wendy gasped again, put a hand to her mouth in horror.

Relishing her exaggerated reactions, because this is motivation for every storyteller, Peter continued to tell her about each of his friends' pasts, the way Hook had discovered them and raised them to be professional thieves.

"You stole things?" Wendy interrupted.

Peter had never felt ashamed before of his pickpocketing, but the way this girl stared at him now made him look away guiltily, realizing that, however artfully they'd done it, their stealing was wrong any way they put it.

"Yeah, well, only what we needed," he murmured.

"But why, Peter?"

"Well, ah..." Peter met her eyes, his hands fiddling with themselves in his lap as he spoke. "Think about it. What if you had nothing? No parents, no school, nowhere to call home, nobody caring whether you slept warm or starved the next morning. Sound like much of a life?"

"I suppose not," Wendy admitted, looking like a dog that has just been scolded.

Peter's eyes riveted to the floor, but his head stayed erect. "You get to thinking it's all right," he went on. "What's wrong with taking what they don't need? So long as we survive the next couple of weeks."

She looked up, once again eager to keep the conversation flowing. "What fun it must be, living together in the Neverland without rules," she said softly, thoughtfully.

"It is," Peter said with a smile, but it disappeared when he realized the last year had been a blur of a battle to control his own body and thoughts. He hardly had any fun when he was acting himself; trying too hard to keep the innocence out.

"Are there girls, too, Peter?" Wendy asked, suddenly looking at him with a smile white as snow.

"In my crew?"

She nodded.

Peter raised an eyebrow teasingly. "No, girls are too clever to get tossed on the streets."

She grinned in a flattered way and he chortled, looking away a bit awkwardly after letting loose with such a compliment. Where was all this coming from? What was she doing to him? The last thing he needed was someone else toying with his emotions. But somehow he didn't want it to stop.

"I think it's perfectly lovely, Peter, the way you talk about girls," Wendy told him bashfully. "And I should like to thank you, you know...well...with a kiss, if you like."

Now, we've mentioned before that Peter was not familiar with girls and their relationship with his gender, however old he was, whatever age he was stuck in forever, and just hanging about with Tiger Lily and Tinkerbell made him ignorant as to what even such a relative thing as a kiss was. He had no real education about the rest of the world aside from the slaughters he'd seen and been part of in Neverland, and the steal-or-be-nicked lifestyle he'd grown up with. All this to say, he probably knew what a kiss _was_, for surely the adolescent boy had seen it done before _somewhere_, but he did not know the term for it, and he thought she meant to give him a special gift of hers.

He did the only polite thing he could think of in his confusion, trying not to make her feel as unprepared as he was, and held out his hand expectantly, standing. He really should be getting back to Neverland, with his shadow in tact. Any action such as this to make time go faster...

But Wendy blinked at him with those large, sparkling blue eyes and said with some befuddlement of her own, "Don't you know what a kiss is, Peter?" She seemed to like using his name as often as she could; as if assuring herself that she was really talking to him.

"Er, no, sorry." Peter blinked back, embarrassed again. "I'll know when you give me one, I guess," he said, shrugging.

Wendy found his lack of knowledge fascinating rather than pathetic, and wasn't put off by it in the least. To be kind, she smoothly pulled a thimble from her blue bathrobe pocket and put it in his hand.

Peter knew what a thimble was. He wasn't stupid; he could guess that she was not giving him what she'd promised, but he played along, letting some more innocence in without thinking about it.

He decided he should give her something back, and a compliment didn't seem sufficient. "Barrie told you everything of Neverland, did he?" he began.

Wendy nodded rapidly.

"D'you want something from that world, then? Something, maybe, from the home under the ground?"

"Yes, please! Oh-Peter-what is the home under the ground?" Wendy asked, and it was her turn to be humiliated by ignorance.

"It's just where the Lost Boys and me live," he said, and immediately thought he'd let a little _too _much innocence in. "My crew, I mean," he backtracked quickly, squeezing his eyes shut in concentration for a moment, repeating it for effect, "My crew."

"I would so like something from the Neverland," sighed Wendy agreeably.

Peter knew from the look on her face that any object would do. He put a hand in his coat pocket, inside it, and pulled out the first thing his fingers met. An acorn, around two times bigger than your thumb.

Wendy saw its stem was tinted with silver, and part of its base glittered slightly. "Oh, Peter, it's so lovely," she cried.

Peter chortled again. (A chortle, you know, is letting out a small, short puff of air from either your nose or mouth in laughter.) "It's just an acorn," he said, but he was trying not to smile.

"But it's an acorn from _you_, Peter Pan, straight from the Neverland!" Wendy whispered, holding the acorn in cupped hands. "It's really quite magnificent, Peter." She looked up in delight, as if just getting an idea. "I shall wear it around my neck," she decided, and took a silver chain from the floor, putting her "kiss" on the end of it and tying it around her neck as one would a piece of jewelry. It did complete her brown-haired nightgown look, Peter thought with amusement.

Peter grinned. "To remember me by, then," he said, nodding to her, and turned to leave.

He didn't hear the drawer of the vanity clanking around in protest.

"You _do _still have them," Wendy murmured, watching his smile.

Peter frowned. "Have what?"

"All your baby teeth."

Peter closed his mouth self-consciously.

"No, Peter, they make you look so very enchanting! Do smile again, just once, please!"

This compliment made Peter smile without even thinking, and she inhaled with ecstasy.

"Oh, if only everyone had your teeth," Wendy said admiringly, fingering her acorn necklace. "We should all look so grand as you do!"

"Grand," Peter repeated in a laugh, skeptically.

Wendy gasped. "And your laugh! You've still got your first!"

Peter stopped laughing abruptly. He really was getting tired of that gurgling little sound his regular laugh spiraled into.

But she seemed just as besotted with his laugh as she had his smile. "Peter, I really should like to give you a kiss," she said quietly, with another beam. "You ought to learn what it is sometime, you know."

Peter was ready to leave now. He couldn't just stand here chatting the early morning hours away. He had to get back to Neverland.

But this kind girl had practically saved his existence, sewing his shadow on for him. If she had not agreed to do it, he might still be trapped fighting for possession of his thoughts for the rest of his life, foolish forever in Neverland.

The least he could do was let her give him what she wanted. He couldn't exit London in good conscience without doing the right thing by Wendy Darling, after what she'd done for him. If she wanted to give him whatever a kiss was, he felt obliged to let her.

"I suppose this means you want yours back?" he teased, pulling the thimble she'd given him out of his coat pocket.

Wendy grinned, still thinking he believed the thimble _was_a kiss. "Oh dear, I don't mean a kiss. I-I suppose I mean a thimble."

Peter continued to play a long, leaning forward as if they were sharing some secret. The innocence he'd let in was allowing his boyishness to shine through. He didn't mind just now; she seemed to enjoy it. "And what," he said in a whisper, "is a thimble, m'lady?"

"It's like this," she said.

And she kissed him.

Peter Pan had never been kissed before. The very action, especially by this particular girl, made every single bit of the innocence his shadow was now keeping back-every single bit of it-flood into every corner of his body, and his heart did one of those Indian dances he'd seen Aaya taking part in back home. His feet left the floor. He was submerged in thick, sugary happiness, not because of the innocence pouring in-at least, that fueled it-but because of the kiss itself. He flew so high, so quickly, in his sudden rush of feeling, that this time, when he hit his head, it made a thump that should have woken the other children up instantly, but they went right on snoring away.

Oh, yes. He remembered what kisses were now; he certainly had seen them. _That _was what he called dopey. Never had he felt so cloudy with joy.

The black-haired boy looked down, head bent so as not to touch the ceiling, letting out a series of chortles when he saw Wendy staring back up at him, giggling with delight at his sudden flight.

"Funny," he breathed, still high in the air and chortling as he grinned at her. She laughed.

He landed in front of her, though he had to will himself to do it; he was so clogged with the innocence (and the happiness) the kiss had let in.

His head was spinning, the way it did when you've gone on a particularly fast ride and got off wanting to get on again, just one more time.

"I guess I ought to give you one now?" Peter offered, for he didn't know the custom with kisses.

Wendy shrugged. "I-If you like," she replied shyly.

When he leaned in to return her gift, she gasped and jerked her head around, looking frantically about the room. "What was that?" she asked, frightened.

Peter was surprised and still a little foggy with feeling. "What was what?" he asked in a distracted voice, shaking his head to rid it of the confusion.

"It was exactly as if something were speaking in my ear."

Peter had a sneaking suspicion he knew what she meant. "How do you mean?" he inquired.

"It said, 'Don't you dare'."

Peter immediately realized what it must have been. "Ah, no, Tink!" he said, hitting the heel of his hand against the side of his head as punishment for forgetting his friend. As for the _ah_ bit, his _oh_s usually sounded like _ahs_anyway.

"Tink?" Wendy said, cocking her head in a pretty way.

"Tinkerbell. She's a...a tree-spirit. A kind of fairy."

"I know about Tinkerbell!" Wendy said, hands fluttering about excitedly. She halted. "Don't they rather hate it when you call them fairies?" Wendy said, a little bit in the know-it-all way.

Peter shrugged, moving around the room and peering in the dollhouse, under the beds, in the coats on the coat rack, flying to go faster. "That's what the Indians call them," he explained. "They like it; but um, now that I think about it, they are sort of fairies."

"_We are **not **your pretty little fable creatures!_" cried a voice in both pre-teens' minds, and Peter stopped suddenly, listening. Wendy made a small, surprised choking sound. "_In the drawer, Peter! The vanity! Let me out. Now!"_

Peter grinned at Wendy.

"What is it?" Wendy said, beginning to smile.

"She's shut up in the drawer," Peter couldn't help making a short snickering sound. "I forgot."

"Oh," Wendy realized, and laughed to make him feel better. She was actually very sorry for Tinkerbell. Fancy being closed up in that stuffy top drawer while your friend made small talk with a stranger for half an hour.

Then Peter hit his head again with the heel of his hand, telling himself inwardly to stop acting like a little boy, and opened the drawer. "Sorry, Tink."

Tinkerbell flew around the room, stretching her wings and shouting very rude things that she had the kindness not to let the children hear. Like Peter's happiness, when Tinkerbell became angry, she lost control of it.

"If only she could hold still and let me see her!" Wendy cried.

"Yes, well, she doesn't stand still very often," Peter said apologetically.

Pointedly to make him look bad as payback for the drawer incident, Tinkerbell immediately stopped flying right in front of Wendy, as still as a statue apart from her wings, fluttering as quickly as a hummingbird.

"Oh, how gorgeous she is!" Wendy cried.

But Tinkerbell ignored the compliment. (She knew full well how much prettier she was than _certain _human girls.) And so she flew to Peter, landing on his shoulder.

_"It's time for us to go," _insisted Tinkerbell, calming down a little. _"You've got your shadow; now we must leave._"

"Yeah, but only because of her," Peter whispered, pointing to the brown-haired girl, who was watching them with eyes full of awe at their partially-telepathic conversation and Tinkerbell's miniature beauty. "We can't just leave like this."

_"The innocence is still waging war for your mind," _Tink said gently. "_It could be stuck inside you permanently. Fight it. Remember, Peter! Hook! You've only known this girl for a short while. Think!_"

Peter glared at his fairy. "I _am _thinking," he hissed. "Clearly, for once. And it isn't like that. Wendy deserves our thanks."

_"Fine," _Tinkerbell said haughtily. "_I could count how many seconds it takes to thank someone,_" she added as she zipped to the vanity, alighting on top of the mirror, "_and your brand of thanks was going quite a bit longer than I expect others would._"

Peter snorted, hoping that the cold coming in from the window dispelled the color rushing to his face at that last comment. He turned away from Tinkerbell and floated over to Wendy, landing in front of her.

"Um, thank you," he said quietly. "You've no clue how much you've helped me tonight."

Wendy looked down shyly and curtsied. "It was my pleasure, Peter," she responded. Then, after some hesitation, she said, "Goodbye. I shall tell Uncle Barrie I saw you."

"He isn't really your Uncle, is he?"

Wendy glanced at her siblings sleeping in the beds behind them. You see, she was facing the window, with Peter's back to it. "No," she whispered, "but you mustn't tell John and Michael. My brothers, I mean. I don't think mother knows I've figured it out, you know."

Peter smiled when she laughed in a mischievous way, the kind of laugh a child lets out who believes they have fooled their superiors. She really was unique.

"He's only told us stories of you," Wendy went on falteringly. "But seeing you now...I wonder if they really are true." She met his eyes. "Do you tell your...your...Lost Boys, was it?"

"My crew," Peter corrected, mentally kicking himself again for ever calling them that in the first place.

"Yes. Do you tell them stories, the way Uncle Barrie tells us stories?"

"I..." Peter wasn't sure anymore. He could only remember most of what had happened in the past year, and even then it was blurred in his memory. "I don't think so. Maybe sometimes. I-I can't remember."

Wendy didn't ask dozens of questions as to why his memories were so flawed. She just acted as if she understood perfectly, nodding. "I know lots of stories," she said softly. "Perhaps if you came back," she added hesitantly, "I could tell them to _you_, and you can take them back to the boys."

"Like what?" Peter said. Tinkerbell was chiming in his head that they had to leave now, but he just wanted a few more minutes with Wendy.

"Well," Wendy began, "there's Cinderella. And Snow White. And Jack and the Beanstalk, and Peter Rabbit."

"Are there pirates in your stories?" Peter asked, the innocence tickling his brain again, the part of it holding curiosity.

Wendy smiled at the very thought of pirates in fairytales. What a wonderful twist! "I suppose I could add them in," she said.

Peter got a sudden impulsive thought. He didn't want to leave. Well, he did, but not without her. And it took so long to go in and out of Neverland-it may be yet another year before he saw his new friend again. How could he promise to come back for stories if he wasn't sure he could? He'd be a liar.

No, there was a much simpler way to do it, an idea that left him warm all over.

"You could come with me," he said in a low voice, head down, and he raised his eyes to meet hers, his eyebrows lifting questioningly, drawing out the _y _in _you_.

Wendy looked overjoyed, terrified, full of wonder, and torn in two all at once. "Come to Neverland?" she whispered.

Peter nodded. "You can tell us all your stories," he offered, hoping that this was something that would appeal to her.

_"Peter, what are you thinking?" _Tinkerbell exclaimed in his mind, fluttering near his head and actually pulling at one of his bangs to get his attention. "_She has a life of her own here. She doesn't belong with us. She is only a human girl!_"

But Peter swatted at her with the back of his pale hand, and kept his brown-eyed stare on Wendy.

"But I...I couldn't," Wendy stammered, and he could see with some satisfaction that she was at war with herself. "Think of mother and father. Uncle Barrie wouldn't know how to go about storytelling without me here."

"He won't need to tell you stories if you aren't here," Peter chortled, grinning at her in amusement at her statement.

Wendy almost laughed with him, but she caught herself. "And I cannot fly," she added.

Peter remembered the mineral dust phial in his pocket. Tinkerbell was there. If she could sing the strange song her people had sung to him when he'd been covered in it...

"I'll teach you, Wendy," he said, almost whispering himself.

"Oh, how lovely it would be to fly," Wendy sighed.

He had her now. Looking at the acorn around her neck, he was reminded of the kiss, and the innocence almost burst the doors of his mind, giving him senseless, wonderful words with which to tempt the poor, vulnerable girl.

"I can teach you to ride the wind's back," he went on, "and away we'll go!"

"Ooh, Peter, it sounds so dreadfully wonderful!"

"_Peter! Stop this at once!"_Tinkerbell scolded, but she went unheard.

"Why spend the whole night in that bed," Peter continued, on a roll now in one of his valiant speeches, "when you could be flying with me and Tink to the Neverland? Wendy, you can almost touch the stars, I'll take you so high!"

"Ooh!"

"It feels like...like you've lost all responsibility," Peter added, digging up all the feelings he had when the innocence corrupted him and describing them with such emotion that Wendy could almost feel them herself. "As if you can do anything you want." He looked her full in the face now. "Like you never have to grow up."

That was the very thing that hit her where she lived, and Wendy's ankles tapped against each other in eagerness.

But Peter thought he had to keep going.

"There are mermaids," he added.

"Mermaids?" Wendy nearly squeaked, and she covered her mouth before her voice aroused the neighbors. "Mermaids, Peter, really?" she tried again in a whisper.

Peter grinned his baby-teeth grin and crossed his arms. "With tails and everything," he teased.

"Oh, Peter, how lovely!"

"The Indians should all respect you," he went on. He had become awfully cunning now. "You come from a land they've never been in."

"Indians! The Kaw Tribe?"

"That's the ones."

"Goodness, I would so like to meet them!"

"And we don't have a mother," Peter added gleefully. "So little Twins hasn't ever been tucked in."

"Poor Twins," Wendy said, but really she was still filled with longing.

"You could tuck him in, Wendy," Peter went on, knowing from the little girls in Kaw Tribe how much any young female, even Wendy's older age, would want to practice motherhood.

"It sounds so grand," Wendy said softly. "I've always wanted to visit Neverland, Peter." She paused. "Do you...do you really want me along, Peter?"

Peter glanced at the tree-spirit glowering at him. "Tink might not," he joked. Then he gave Wendy his cocky smirk. "But right now...I don't care."

Wendy nodded, but she still repeated, "But do _you _want me, Peter? To come to your land?"

"It's the_ only_ thing I want," Peter told her, going for genuine.

She smiled bashfully.

"Last time I came, y'know, I-I brought back a few things, but now I only want to bring you."

_"Stop, Peter, the innocence is taking your feelings to control your tongue!_" Tinkerbell shouted at him.

Peter knew this. And he liked it. It was convincing his new friend.

"It's awfully fascinating, the Neverland," Wendy finally said. "Peter, could John and Michael come too?"

She gestured to the other two beds.

"_No!_" Tinkerbell snapped.

Peter put his hands on his hips gallantly. "Can they take orders?"

Wendy took this as a yes (which is what he intended) and rushed to wake her brothers. "Michael! John! Wake up! Look, look, Peter Pan has come! He is to teach us to fly!"

John was the first to awaken. He examined Peter. "I say," he said curtly, "are you really he?"

For an answer, Peter grinned at Wendy and lifted into the air.

John scrambled from the bed. "So you _are_real! Champion!"

Michael was awake now too, and he was jumping up and down. "You're here, you're here, you're here!" he cheered.

Peter found their extreme reactions very amusing in an older-brother sort of way, and he was thoroughly enjoying the fact that they were treating him as if he were their hero.

"Does Captain Hook exist too?" Michael asked, stopping his jumping.

Peter thought the little boy was afraid of the pirates. "Possibly," he said, remembering the cave-in.

And Michael began jumping again. "Hooray!"

Peter laughed, and the boys stared at him when they heard the impish gurgling in it.

But Wendy went to his side and smiled ever wider when_ she_ heard it, and Peter decided it wasn't such an odd laugh after all.

"How do you do it?" John asked. "Fly."

Peter tried to put it into words. "Just...think."

There was a moment of silence as all three children set to thinking. Michael looked as if he might explode from thinking so much.

"I mean, think good stuff," Peter corrected. "Happy things, you see?"

"Think happy thoughts, and you can fly?" Wendy asked, who had had very many happy thoughts and hadn't lifted an inch since her very first one.

"They lift you into the air. Right, Tink?" Peter glanced at his fairy.

Tinkerbell turned her back to him, folding her lovely delicate arms.

"Who's acting the child now?" Peter mocked her, and then felt bad for it, but his pride refused to have him take it back. He turned back to the Darling children. "You need one more thing."

He took out the phial of mineral dust.

"Ooooh!"

Peter looked at Tinkerbell again. "When I pour this over you lot, you've got to think the happiest thought you can. And Tinkerbell's gonna start to sing. Won't you, Tink?" He narrowed his eyes at her.

Tinkerbell turned around in a fury. _"If you think for one minute, you impertinent little rogue, that I am going to help you delay us further..."_

"Yeah, but it _isn't _delaying us, Tink," Peter explained. He lowered his voice so that only she heard him. "You aren't gonna let them explode into ashes, are you? Help me, Tink, and we'll leave as soon as they've got the knack."

Tinkerbell sighed. _"Make it quick._"

Peter turned to the children. "All right, think happy things. Christmas morning. Getting a new toy. Seeing the mermaids and the pirates. Ready?"

"Do you mean we're going to the Neverland?" John exclaimed, staring at him.

"Are you ready?" Peter demanded, ignoring the question irritably.

They stood in a row and nodded, and Wendy closed her eyes.

Peter sprinkled the dust on each of them, one by one, leaving Wendy for last. Their bodies began to glow, and John's glasses fogged up.

Then Wendy began to blow brighter, and her tone sounded tight as she lifted off the floor. "Peter?" Her voice echoed. "What's happening? I-I can't feel my feet!"

"_Tink_!" Peter shouted, livid that his friend had not begun to sing. They could be killed!

"_Oh, all right._" Tinkerbell began making music with her wings, and her voice sounded like an entire concert.

Instantly the Darlings floated into the air, feet further and further from the floor, and they stopped glowing. Wendy was the first to realize they were actually flying.

"All right, now don't panic," Peter said, exchanging a knowing glance with Tinkerbell. "It'll last a day or two, but that's it. Not enough for...well, forever, like it was with me. Tinkerbell?"

Tinkerbell began instructing them on what to think of, the way she had the first time Peter had flown.

John let out a gasp of fear, and he started dropping.

Peter shot up to their level. "Focus, John, d'you hear me? Happy thoughts!"

John lifted again, and he opened his eyes. "How ripping!" he cried, and flew in a circle around the room, laughing and laughing.

Michael had gotten the hang of it first. He was backstroking through the air, as one would when they were swimming. "Look at me, Wendy!"

"How lovely!" Wendy exclaimed. "Peter, this is amazing!" She looked down and to the left and right.

Peter was nowhere to be seen.

She started to fear he'd gone and left them like this, maybe as a boyish joke. "Peter?"

"Boo!"

Wendy twisted around in midair to see the raven-haired boy grinning at her, floating just behind her.

"Got you," he said softly, teasingly, watching her eyes.

Wendy smiled and giggled. "I do so wish I had your laugh," she commented.

Peter didn't know how to respond to this, and glanced at the window. "Are you ready?" he asked her again.

"Yes," Wendy said, but in truth she was having doubts. The Neverland sounded wonderful, but also dangerous, as if it were more trouble than it was worth.

But the way Peter was looking at her sealed it. She wanted him to show her everything there was to see in the Neverland, and she wanted it so badly that, when he reached the window, she was the first to follow him.

"How do we get to Neverland?" Michael asked impatiently as they flew above the tree outside their nursery.

"Well, through the second star to the right, of course," Peter answered arrogantly, with his cocky smirk.

Wendy followed his gaze to the biggest star near the moon. "Goodness," she observed, "it's frightfully bright, Peter. Won't it burn us up?"

Peter remembered what Tinkerbell had been reminding him for the past year. You had to be three things to get through the second star to the right and come out yourself again. Flying, of course, goes without saying, but the three things were what mattered most.

"Oh, it's easy," he said casually. "You've just got to be gay and innocent and heartless."


	7. Chapter 7: Tinkerbell's Scheme

**(Author's Note: From here on out, note that the fanfic will be following the timeline of the book _Peter Pan_, but it'll have different dialogue, script, whatever, and there will be some twists. Kind of like _Peter Pan_, Neverland 2011 style. ~Doverstar)**

* * *

When the Darling children, Tinkerbell, and Peter all reached the Neverland, it was around breakfast time. The sun had already been coming up, when they had left the house, and when they emerged from the star as it flashed them into the time-ridden world, the sun was already covering the islands.

Peter drifted down to where Wendy was flying forward, her hands outstretched as if to keep herself from bumping into anything, even though there was nothing but the sea beneath them just now.

"Welcome to Neverland," Peter said, and she glanced at him with a face so filled with glee that he wondered if the mineral dust had gripped her too. But this joy was all her own at seeing the land she'd imagined so often.

"I say, Peter, what's that?" John pointed.

Peter followed his finger and his heart almost stopped. He nearly dropped a few feet. "The pirate ship," he breathed.

"_The Jolly Roger_?" Wendy was staring at it too, with some nervousness.

"Didn't they all leave after the big fight with the Indians?" Michael asked, rather distractedly.

"No," Peter said, gritting his teeth. "Not at all."

Then Wendy gasped. "Peter, they've fetched the cannon!"

Peter glanced down and realized she was right. "They've seen us," he announced, but that much was obvious. "Mind the cannonballs, you lot," he informed them smugly. "Leave the pirates to me."

He dove down with such great speed toward the nearest trees that the Darlings all had to blink to make sure they had really seen it.

As Peter neared the ship with a coconut in hand, the cannon went off. He glanced back to where his friends were flying a bit more quickly now. They were only dots on the horizon now, but still in range.

_Look sharp, don't get hit, don't get hit, don't get hit, _Peter thought, willing them to be smart about it.

He turned his attention to the pirates below. "Oy," he shouted down. "You missed me!"

A dozen ugly heads jerked toward him.

Peter, grinning with mischief, raised the coconut high, ready to hit the man behind the cannon, hoping to distract them from the Darlings and Tinkerbell.

But something stayed his arm. He had caught sight of another pirate, dressed in red with his now-darkening locks of hair hidden beneath a large black hat with a peacock's feather protruding from it.

He and the pirate locked eyes, and as time seemed to slow, Peter dropped the coconut harmlessly into the water in total shock.

The pirate raised his left hand in mock greeting...but it wasn't a hand at all. It was a curled piece of iron. The corner of the man's mouth twisted upward a little in a nasty smirk. His eyes flashed hatred, and Peter's flashed the mutual feeling right back.

His heart filled with fury, Peter almost drew his dagger right there. But then the cannon went off, and he remembered he was supposed to be the distraction. Instead, the captain of the vessel had distracted _him_.

Peter heard a shout from far behind him, and, pulled out of his flaming trance, he glanced over his shoulder frantically. With one last glare at the smirking pirate, he shot higher into the air and flew back to where he'd last seen the Darlings.

He found only Tinkerbell. "Tink!" he said breathlessly. "You aren't gonna believe who..." he paused and looked around them, through the pure white clouds. "Tinkerbell," he said tightly, through his teeth, "Where's Wendy? Where are her brothers?"

"_The cannon,_" Tinkerbell replied seriously. "_It didn't hit them, but its blast knocked them away toward the land, so the boys are all right._"

Peter nodded, but his mind was on something else. "And Wendy?"

Now Tinkerbell sounded the haughtiest he'd ever heard her. "_I'm sure I don't know,_" she replied with a sneer. "_Why are you so concerned with such a daft creature as her? A newt is brighter! Wake up, Peter, can't you?_"

"I'm fine, do you hear me? I've got my shadow back now. I'm fine." Peter snapped, wanting desperately to believe it. Besides, he could feel that his worries for the girl in question just weren't connected to his innocence-corrupted brain. "It's Wendy I want to hear about. Where is she?"

"_She went squealing off somewhere near the mountains,_" Tinkerbell grumped. "_That's all I saw."_

"So she landed by the home under the ground," Peter breathed a sigh of relief. "Good. Tink, can you find the crew and tell them to make sure she's all right? Tell them the bit about her sewing my shadow on," he added. "They'll know she's..." he searched for the right word, confusing himself. "She's important," he finally decided. "They can help her. And if you see Tiger Lily, tell her everything as well, all right?"

"_What makes you think I **want **to help this girl?_" Tinkerbell snapped. "_She's got you wrapped around her finger, Peter, what with the thimbles and the kisses and that nonsense!_ _Don't tell me you can't see it!_"

Peter glared so hard at her she fluttered backward a few inches. "Look here," he said between his teeth, fists balled as he floated above the water. "I am _not _wrapped around her finger. And I'm _cured_, Tinkerbell; your stupid dust isn't doing this to me. I'm not gonna just sit on my thumbs while an innocent person falls to her death, do you understand?"

Tinkerbell grew so angry then that she darted away without another word, and Peter wondered with his own brand of irritation if she would see sense in doing the right thing and help Wendy, or just leave her to crash to her doom.

Time to find John and Michael and bring them back.

* * *

Peter's so-called "Lost Boys" had just finished a visit to the Kaw Tribe when Tinkerbell reached them.

"Tink!" cried Tootles. "You're back! Where's Peter gone? Did he get his shadow?"

Tinkerbell nodded. Then she spoke to Tootles gently and flatteringly in his mind.

"What's she saying?" Slightly inquired.

Tootles was still listening. He looked up and his eyes widened. He nodded rapidly. "I-I see it, Tink."

The others followed his gaze.

"What on Earth is _that_?" Curly spluttered.

"Tink says it's called a Wendy-Bird," Tootles said, shading his eyes with a hand and squinting at the small figure in the sky. "She told me Peter told her to tell us to dispose of it."

They all stared at him.

"What _are_ you talking about?" Twins burst out in frustration.

"We've got to shoot it down," Tootles said simply. "Peter demands it. Tink told me it'll be doing Neverland a favor."

"Peter's gone batty, don't you remember?" Curly grumbled. "How do we know he's thinking straight?"

"He's got his shadow back, don't _you _remember?" Tootles argued.

"People don't cure that easily!"

"Peter's not _people_," protested Twins. "He's Peter."

"Can't argue with that one," Slightly said, giving Curly a pat on the shoulder.

Curly sighed. "We've _all _gone batty if we're about to take orders from him. Has anyone even heard of a Wendy-Bird before?"

But the boys were already readying their bows and arrows.

"On three!" Nibs shouted.

"This is madness," Curly insisted.

"One!"

"You can't be serious!" cried Curly, glaring at them. He noticed Twins cocking his bow and knocked it from the little boy's arm moodily. "Put that down; you'll kill someone."

"Hey!" Twins moaned.

"Two!"

"_Trust me, Curly,_" Tinkerbell said darkly to him, and she sounded in a fit of her own, "_Peter most certainly does **not **know what he's doing. Not yet. But we'll all be better off without that creature. Peter included. Understand?**"**_

Curly ran a hand through his blonde, curly hair. "Fine, then, have a go at it," he said, and he refused to participate even then.

"_Three_!" yelled Nibs, and the Lost Boys fired.

"I got it, I got it!" Tootled cried heartbeats later, as the figure flailed and began to careen even faster toward the ground.

Seconds later, they were all gathered around Wendy's still form.

"That's no bird," Nibs murmured.

"It's a lady," Twins stammered, completely confused. "A girl. What did Peter want us to shoot _her _for?"

Curly joined them last, and when he saw the teenage girl, lifeless with an arrow protruding from her chest, his face turned bright red with fury.

"What were you _thinking_?" he demanded, struck dumb with horror. "You've _killed _someone! A person! Are you all completely daft? I _told _you not to shoot!"

Tears formed in Twins eyes, but Tootles was already pale with guilt and shock.

"It's my arrow," he mumbled. "I got her. I've shot her down."

"This is bad," Twins muttered, over and over. "Really, dreadful bad. Awful."

"What have I done?" Tootles whispered.

"She was flying," Nibs said absently, also dumbfounded with the weight of what they'd done. "Peter must have brought her."

"Aye, remember Aaya's phial? That tree-spirit stuff?" Slightly added, putting the pieces together as he stared at Wendy. "He gave it to her."

"We're all in trouble, then, if Peter brought her," Twins said, eyes widening. "Remember that look he got when he was fencing with us?"

A deep shudder passed through Tootles. "He'll gut me for sure," he said quietly, trembling. "He's gone off his rocker. This will put him over the edge."

At that moment, Peter returned with John and Michael at his side.

"Hullo, lads!" he greeted, playing a ditty on his flute. "Has Tink reached you yet?"

They all swivelled toward him, eyes huge and terrified. They barely noticed the two strangers landing clumsily beside their captain.

"No!" Twins yelped. "She, er, she hasn't, Peter."

Curly's eyes were on the ground in front of the black-headed lad. "You've got your shadow with you," he noted. "Feel any different?"

Peter grinned. "It's coming along, yeah," he smirked. "Did you think I'd come back with nothing to show for?"

They shook their heads in unison, crowding together so that they hid the Darling girl's body.

"Well, I've done better than that," Peter announced grandly. "I've brought us two more men!" He gestured to the boys beside him. "This is John, and that's Michael. We're gonna teach them everything we know."

Michael and John stared at the Lost Boys with eyes almost as wide as their new companions'.

"Here," Peter said with a puff of laughter, "see if you can name them, eh, John?"

John pointed to each boy and quietly rattled off their correct names in the space of fifteen seconds, which was quite a feat.

Curly's head recoiled. "How...?"

"Oh, they know all about us," Peter chortled. "We're legends, apparently, didn't you hear? And they're not the only ones. I've brought us a...well, a sort of female companionship, I guess," he said. "Someone to tell you stories, eh, Twins? Put a new spin on things around here. Her name is Wendy. She's..."

Here the boys all moved back. Peter, catching sight of her pale body, immediately hit the ground with his bare feet, ceasing to fly as all his happiness left him.

"Dead," Twins finished, tears flowing freely in shame. Tootles made a small, pitiful sound in the back of his throat fearfully.

"Wendy? Wake up!" Michael cried, painfully baffled as he stared at his sister.

"It can't be," gasped John, face the color of a sheet.

Peter slowly knelt beside her, pulling the arrow out. Rage lit within him. Could nothing go right? he wondered again. How had this happened? He recognized the blue tint on the end of the weapon. The Kaw Tribe had given his crewmates this type of arrow for an easier time of using it, sure to hit its target.

Trying to fight the lump in his throat, Peter watched Wendy's face for any sign of life. She didn't move.

"Whose arrow?" Peter demanded through gritted teeth.

Curly loyally kept his mouth shut, and signaled to the others to do the same. If Tootles was caught, it would not be because his friends had accused him openly.

Peter shot to his feet and turned fully to face them, his eyes fireballs of anger. They had cut down this kind, unique girl that had saved his very being. And out of what? Spite? Fear of the unknown? He didn't care. It was their fault this had happened, and now none of them even had the bravery to admit it.

"I said _whose_?" Peter growled out, holding up the arrow.

In the end, full of shame as he laid eyes on Wendy, Tootles gave himself away. "It's mine, Peter," he practically whispered.

The other boys put themselves between him and Peter and the arrow, but Tootles pushed past them.

"I did it," he repeated. "It was me." He approached Peter without hesitation now, and said quietly, "Strike, Peter. It's only right. Strike true."

And the young boy squeezed his eyes shut, preparing for his final moments.

Peter dropped the arrow and bent his head, defeated. "No," he said softly. "I can't."

Then he sat beside Wendy, his knees drawn up, and folded his arms over them, resting his chin on said arms. He was trying very hard not to cry. Her colorless face reminded him of Fox's, when the older boy had fallen into the sea after one of those bloody pirates had stabbed him. The memory hurt as if he were still in that Indian canoe, watching his old friend fall to his death. Now he'd lost Wendy too. So quickly. Tinkerbell had been right; he hadn't known her long enough to care this much, but she had been so good to him...

Just then, Wendy moaned and stirred a little.

"She's alive!" Twins cried, startled. He scrambled backward, nearly knocking Michael over.

John quickly wiped the tears he proceeded to pretend he hadn't been shedding.

Peter looked up and couldn't help but smile with relief, showing both sets of baby teeth, huffing a little, almost giving out short, breathy laughs, like the time he'd first been reunited with Fox in the winter woods when they'd actually discovered Neverland.

Wendy's eyes fluttered a little, and then she fell unconscious again.

"She's only fainted," Peter decided gleefully. He glanced at the spot where he thought the arrow had pierced, only just now noticing that there wasn't any blood.

He noted the acorn on the chain around her neck. It was dented a tiny bit, almost halfway through the thick nut.

"The kiss," he muttered.

"The what?" Curly pinched his eyebrows together.

Peter shook himself, closing his eyes for a moment. "The acorn, I mean. Gift. I gave to her."

"It's just an acorn," Twins said, screwing up his face in bafflement.

Peter shook his head slowly. "Yeah, well, this _just an acorn _saved her life," he said proudly. "Look there. The arrow hit it."

Tootles let out a long breath of air he hadn't realized he'd been holding. "So...I haven't killed her, then?"

There was an uncertain twitter of amusement around the group of boys.

"No," Peter said, standing and clapping Tootles on the back. "Good thing, too," he teased, "or I'd have strung you up."

Tootles faked a nervous laugh, still shaking a bit.

"She's got to go someplace where she can rest," Peter announced.

"Right," John added. "Wendy doesn't faint very often."

"She might need medicine," said Michael, making a face.

"What's medicine?" Twins asked, blinking a few times.

"Beastly stuff," John explained. "Tell you about it later."

Peter was glad his crew and the Darling children were getting along so well, but there was still the matter of Wendy's health.

"Right, lads, let's get her inside the home under the ground," he instructed.

"You mustn't move her!" John cried out. They all glowered at him, and he said quickly, "Fainting girls are unstable."

There could be no argument with this, and so the Lost Boys crowded around Wendy, her brothers included, trying to figure out what to do.

"She's got to stay here and die, then," Twins said mournfully.

"Don't be stupid, Twins," Peter ordered.

"Right, sorry."

"What if we built a house around her?" Nibs suggested.

"Brilliant!" Twins exclaimed.

"That'll take too long," Curly corrected.

"What were you thinking?" Twins gave Nibs a whack across the arm.

"I think it's a great idea," Peter said, shrugging.

Twins nodded. "Just what I said."

"Are you mad?" Curly argued, glaring at Peter, still under the impression the boy was still a bit loopy.

"We built the home under the ground, didn't we?" Peter began earnestly. "Who says this'll take even half the afternoon?"

So they agreed to make the house, and in minutes they had it finished. A leaf carpet, ivy tendrils strung together for walls, palm fronds for the roof...and John's Sunday hat for a chimney.

When it was finished, Peter let some of his innocence in without really much thought, and snapped his fingers, closing his eyes for a few seconds as if thinking hard.

In a heartbeat, the hat-chimney actually began puffing smoke, although there was no fireplace.

The crew all gawked at Peter for it, and the raven-haired boy just shrugged irritatingly.

"It needed something extra," he explained.

"How did you do that?" Michael asked, bouncing on his toes.

Peter grinned down at him and lifted an eyebrow. "Imagination, I guess."

"But imagination's only make-believe things," John protested.

"Says who?" Peter retorted. "You imagined us, and Neverland and the Indians and pirates, didn't you? Here we are."

"You really have gone batty," Curly grumbled.

"Yeah, but it's just such fun," Peter said smugly, deliberately getting on Curly's nerves. The other boys laughed.

"Right, that's done, then," Peter said, not bothering to wipe the dirt off his hands. "I'll fetch Tiger Lily."

Then he remembered that, earlier in the day, he had already sent someone else to do this job.

"You're sure Tinkerbell never came this way?" Peter demanded.

Tootles nodded. "She said something about the girl bein' a bird, Peter. She wanted us to shoot her down."

So they _hadn't _done it out of spite. Tinkerbell had been behind this. She'd been angry with him. She'd been convinced, he reflected, that Wendy was controlling Peter's actions; making him behave unwisely. Which, of course, was ludicrous, but these theories of hers had almost surely gotten Wendy struck down. How could she be so heartless?

"Tink!" Peter shouted through cupped hands. "Tinkerbell, come out! We've got to have a chat, you and me."

Tinkerbell appeared almost immediately; she'd been watching with growing dread. She landed on his shoulder, the way she always did so tenderly each morning, ready to start the day and spend it by his side.

But he shook her off, stepping backward. "Did you do it, Tink?"

_"Yes._"

"Why?" Peter said, upset and furious. "How could you do something like this? She could have been killed."

"_She doesn't belong here, Peter._"

Her voice was so calm, so self-righteous about it, that Peter's anger gripped him and his black eyebrows sunk so low over dark brown eyes that the crew even felt compelled to stay out of his way.

"If you did this," he said in a voice vibrating with lividity, "without any kind of thought for the person you almost murdered...then I'm your friend no more."

"_What_?" Tinkerbell exclaimed, surprised and outraged. "_Peter..._"

"Go on, get out of here!" Peter snapped, turning away before she could see how much he wanted to take it back. But it was a dreadful thing she'd done; without even trusting that he knew what he was doing, bringing Wendy to Neverland.

"Forever, Peter?" Twins murmured beside him.

Tinkerbell waited for his reply, hovering quietly just above the raven-haired boy.

Peter shook his head, undecided. "I don't know," he said softly. "Just go."

Tinkerbell left without so much as a sorrowful goodbye between them.


	8. Chapter 8: The Mermaid Lagoon

When Wendy woke up, she felt a bit lightheaded. Beneath her were dead leaves, but they were dry and quite comfortable. She seemed to be in a tiny house made of various foliage.

What had happened? She'd been falling...pushed by a pirate's cannonball. And then a band of strangers had up and shot at her! She remembered everything going dark...

She heard a voice shushing a few other voices, some snickers, and the sound of someone slapping someone else. The noise of many young people trying and failing to surprise you.

"Hello?" Wendy called.

Everything went quiet again.

"Is someone there? John? Michael?" She was becoming frightened now.

Slowly she opened the little door to the house.

In front of her stood seven boys of different ages, two of which were her own brothers.

"You're all right, then, Wendy?" Michael checked hesitantly.

"I'm perfectly fine, you see, Michael," began Wendy. "But...who are your new friends?" she said, giggling a bit when she overlooked them. They really were a ragged bunch.

"I'm Twins!" piped up the freckled little lad.

"Shh!" said Curly, hitting the boy upside the back of his head as if he'd interrupted a rehearsal of some kind.

The sound of a flute came from above. Such pretty music! Wendy took a step or two halfway out of the house and looked up at the roof, grinning when she recognized the player.

Peter dipped his head to her charmingly, cross-legged on top of the house, not ceasing to play his flute until he'd gotten to a point in the tune where he could finish the short number.

"I see you're a frail one," he teased her, "so I'll make it quick."

He floated down to the ground and gestured in turn to each of the boys. Wendy curtsied to each one as he introduced them, and all except Twins, who was least educated in manners, either bowed back or nodded to her in a polite way.

"You remember what I told you about my crew, don't you, Wendy? This is Curly, chief director of all our little shows we put on for our pickpocket business. Mister Nibs here, he's Curly's partner half the time, when they're not mucking about together. And this's Slightly; he's got the best strategies. Straighten up, Toot's. This is Tootles, he's..." Peter put a hand on Tootles' shoulder and grinned cockily, "...well, he's a good shot, as you prob'ly gathered, eh?"

Wendy noticed the guilt on the poor lad's face at Peter's good-natured ribbing, and she added a gentle smile to her curtsy when she addressed him, feeling sorry for the tan-skinned boy. "It's quite all right, Tootles; I know you meant me no real harm."

Tootles nodded back shyly, stammered a 'thank you', and looked away self-consciously.

"And this little man is Twins," Peter finished, gesturing to the youngest. "He's small, but he's cunning. Good for getting through tight spaces, right, Twins?"

Twins crossed his arms proudly and gave Wendy an adorable smile.

"Are you sure you're feeling so chipper, Wendy?" John asked tentatively. "You look quite pale, I mean."

Wendy tucked her hair behind her ears, thinking under so many male eyes that she looked absolutely dreadful, but really, unbeknownst to her, she was one of the prettiest creatures they'd ever laid eyes on...and they hung about with tree-spirits and mermaids, so this was quite a statement.

"I'm all right, John," she insisted. "Peter, what happened?"

"Tink meddled a bit in the flying business," Peter said quietly; he was still angry with the fairy. "But you're all right now, so that's done with."

"What now, then?" John muttered.

Peter glanced at him distractedly, pocketing his flute. His brown irises grew a bit glazed over. "How about, ah, the Lost..." Peter stopped himself and clenched his hands into fists at his sides, closing his eyes yet again for a moment. "_My crew_," he said stubbornly, "W-What if my crew took you lot to see the Kaw Tribe?"

Curly eyed him suspiciously. Had Peter really been cured? Or was he just fighting very hard to keep back the certain amount of innocence that was now stuck in him?

"Oh, ripping!" John cried. "Do they really gut alligators?"

"Crocodiles," Curly corrected absently. "Come on, then."

They all turned and began to go back the way they'd come.

Wendy started to follow them excitedly, but she paused and glanced back at Peter, who was watching her and, when she looked at him, pretended he hadn't been, though he didn't know why.

"Where will you be, Peter?" she asked curiously.

Peter took hold of her wrist and smiled that cocky smile. "I was thinking of heading over to the mermaid lagoon," he said, feigning indifference. "Don't suppose you'd wanna come along?"

"Really?" Wendy gasped. The happiness that filled her with this revelation made her feet leave the ground; the mineral dust was still taking effect on her.

Peter chortled. "Steady, there; you aren't gonna go flying off without me, are you?" He rose up with her, and together they began going higher and higher.

* * *

As they traveled through the air, Wendy relishing the wind through her hair, she turned to the raven-haired boy and began to doubt, watching the sea below.

"P-Peter, what if...if the pirates see us again?" she stuttered fearfully.

Peter's face grew hard. "Don't worry about them," he ordered. "I'm not gonna let that happen again."

"And...if I should fall?" Wendy said, hardly daring to look down. She realized she didn't have a head for heights just now, not after the arrow incident.

"Then I'll catch you," Peter promised, making the answer sound as if it should have been obvious.

She smiled at him gratefully and he found he couldn't look away. It was like the innocence was back. Really, it was trickling in then without his consent, but he discovered himself caught in a trance for a moment, and he knew there was no tree-spirit magic here. He truly couldn't avert his eyes.

That is, until he ran into a cloud and was covered by the moist fluff for a moment.

"Hey!" cried Peter's now-muffled British accent from within the cloud indignantly.

She could just barely see his hands flailing to push the mist away. Wendy laughed.

Peter emerged, very embarrassed and trying not to laugh with her, and he refused to look at her for an entire minute afterward, making sure to avoid all clouds.

"There it is," he finally said, drifting until he'd landed with Wendy at his side.

They stood on a rock in the middle of a pure-blue lagoon. The water was so clear, Wendy could see the color of every single shell. There was even glitter in the air, and she could have sworn she heard music...

...No, wait, that was Peter.

Peter was playing his flute again, flying a few inches up, eyes closed. Wendy enjoyed the sound so much, she folded her hands behind her back and decided not to ask what he was up to.

Before two minutes more had passed, two long figures sleekly appeared half-in-half-out of the sparkling waters, their polished, iridescent nails, almost like claws, curling over the rock Wendy stood on.

Two gorgeous female heads emerged, one blonde, one black-haired. They both had green, glittering streaks in their hair, and their eyes were turquoise. One had a seaweed necklace, while the other, the blonde, wore a circlet of pearls on her head.

Their pale, shining tails swayed back and forth underwater to Peter's flute playing. Their lashes were long and silver, and both of them had a queer amount of freckles that were a shade brighter than the rest of their perfect skin, much unlike ordinary freckles.

Wendy's own heart nearly stopped at their beauty, and she glanced at Peter, thinking rather sorrowfully that if she, a girl, was so smitten with the mermaids' appearance, then surely he, a boy, must be twice as enchanted, and she prepared to fight off envy.

But Peter's eyes were open now, eyebrows pinched together, and he still played on, watching the creatures with eyes that looked as though they were gazing at a particularly remarkable-looking spider, the kind that you admire but find more disgust in than fair appearance. When he caught Wendy watching him, he raised an eyebrow and his mouth, still being used to play the flute, twitched in a kind of way that a mouth will when it wants to smile but can't because it is preoccupied.

Wendy smiled back, and glanced down at the mermaids. "Hello," she whispered sweetly, because she felt that their quiet lagoon needed to be respected with low voices.

The blonde's eyes swivelled over to Wendy, sizing her up. She clicked her tongue in a strange language to the other mermaid, and her companion tilted her head at Wendy like a confused puppy.

Then their tails continued to move to the music, and their gazes were all for Peter again.

"Yes," Wendy murmured conspiratorially, "he does play quite well, doesn't he? He's very talented. Oh, have you heard his laugh?"

The mermaids blinked at her, listening, and then the black-headed mermaid smiled. Wendy was taken aback. Their teeth looked human, but for the fact that their ends were pointed.

She continued to make conversation with them, as she had so often dreamed about, but they only clicked and nodded and sometimes ignored her words to listen to Peter. It was apparent that they would only stay for the music. But when they did pay attention, they were excellent listeners, their intelligent eyes acting as if they understood exactly what she meant.

"You see, it's all very new to me," whispered Wendy. "Imagine it, can't you? Seeing a strange boy crying in your bedroom. Without a proper thank-you for sewing his shadow on! But he has such a good heart about him. He's very kind, and quite funny. And handsome, don't you think? I mean for a boy who shan't grow up."

At this the mermaids turned and nodded rapidly. Wendy chuckled; she knew (and was grateful about it) that Peter could not hear their talk with his flute going on so wonderfully. It was a jaunty tune by now, something that could lull you to sleep and make you want to dance and never stop as well.

Then the blonde mermaid slowly took Wendy's hand, tugging it a little. The black-haired mermaid gestured to the water with a large, playful smile on her lips.

Something in their eyes made Wendy feel like she really would enjoy a swim. She let the mermaid pull her arm halfway into the water, entranced, but the flute music above stopped suddenly, startling her.

"Stop! Wendy, stop!" Peter dove down and pulled her back with some difficulty and a bit of grunting, yanking her firmly by her free arm, his flute falling from his hands as he did so. He held out his hand and it plopped into his grip again comically.

"What is it?" Wendy gasped.

"You can't have her, understand?" Peter hissed to the mermaids. "She's not one for your kind to dispatch."

"Dis_patch_?" Wendy shrieked.

Peter didn't answer her directly. "_Go_," he ordered, and snapped his fingers, letting go of Wendy.

The mermaids made a low, fearsome growling noise in the backs of their throats, and Wendy saw gills behind their ears fan out like a cobra's head, or a rooster's ruffled feathers.

Then they dove into the water and swam until they could no longer be seen.

"What did you mean, _dispatch_? They were going to...to...?" Wendy couldn't bring herself to say it, horrified. Then she clasped her hands around her acorn necklace. "Peter, you saved my life!" She blinked. "Again."

Peter tapped his fingers against his side absently. "Yeah, well." And that was all he said for response. "Wendy," he said suddenly, "however long you stay in Neverland, you can't come here without me, all right?"

"Not even with John or Michael or one of the others?" Wendy requested. She could already tell this would be her favorite place among the Neverland. So long as the mermaids didn't remember they wanted to carry her off to devour her, they were such fun to have small talks with.

Peter blinked. "Maybe then."

"Don't you know for sure?" Wendy was frightened and confused and a little irritated with his riddle-like answers.

"Yes," Peter replied with a shy huff of a laugh, his voice quiet, "but I'd sort of prefer it if it were me."

"Oh. Of course," Wendy said, looking at the water and tucking a stray strand of hair behind her ear for the second time that day. "We shall need your lovely flute music. They seemed to like it a great deal, I mean."

"Yeah. Exactly," Peter agreed hastily. He offered his hand. "We should get back," he said.

She took his hand and they flew into a warm breeze that carried them further and further forward until they barely had to will themselves to move at all.

"Peter! Peter!"

Peter let go of Wendy's hand and she told herself not to look down, suddenly feeling very unsafe.

"It's Curly," Peter said, frowning. "And Nibs and the rest. Come on!"

They landed on a cliff outside the Kaw village.

"Where are John and Michael?" Wendy asked the boys as soon as she arrived, noticing that her brothers were not among them anymore.

"What happened?" Peter added.

"We were in the pass," Tootles began, breathing hard as if they'd just stopped running, "Showing the boys how to talk to the scout, to let them in and out of the Tribe, y'know, and..."

"They just rose up like wraiths!" Slightly interrupted, panting.

Peter's head jerked toward him. "Who did?"

"The pirates!" Twins cried. "They took your brothers, Wendy!"

Wendy's face drained of color and she put both hands to her mouth, heart skipping a beat.

"We're gonna get 'em back," Peter reassured her, and glanced at Nibs. "Which way did they go?"

"Bull Island," Nibs answered, doubled over with his hands on his knees, still trying to catch his breath.

"To the caves?" Wendy gasped.

"They're not there anymore, remember?" Peter told her. "The cave-in."

"Right. Yes, I remember." Wendy began taking deep breaths, trying to calm herself. "We have to leave at once!"

"Which pirates? How many?" Peter glanced at Slightly.

"Smee, Starkey, Bill Jukes, Cecco...and a good five others." Slightly looked as if he really _had _seen a ghost as he added, "Including Jimmy."

"_Hook_," Peter hissed, drawing his dagger. "He's not Jimmy anymore."

Slightly exchanged an alarmed glance with Tootles at the hatred in Peter's eyes.

"Peter," Curly added, "they took Aaya." His eyes were frantic when he spoke her name.

"The Kaw Princess?" Wendy exclaimed, horrified. "What if they hurt her? The poor girl!"

Peter's eyes got stormy once more. "They won't have her for long. Let's go, lads."

"Wait!" Wendy cried when Peter lifted up off the ground and the group turned to go.

Peter glanced down at her distractedly.

"I want to help you," Wendy insisted.

"No, it's too dangerous," Peter responded. "Hook's with them."

"I'm not scared, Peter," Wendy told him stubbornly. "I know all about them."

"Yeah, but can you_ fight_ them?" Peter retorted.

"You'll get your answers when you bring me along," she said craftily, lifting her chin.

Peter bit back a smile at her bravery. "All right, then, see if you can keep up."

She closed her eyes and shot up beside him, as if the adrenaline of battle had pushed her into the sky.

Then the entire group disappeared into the forest.


	9. Chapter 9: Battle at Bull Island

Aaya was having a very bad day.

First, she'd been out collecting feathers with some of the Tribe's womenfolk and had gotten her arm cut by an unseen briar patch. Secondly, she hadn't caught sight of Peter yet since he'd left for the mainland to regain his shadow, even though the boys insisted he had returned. And he hadn't come to see her, so if this was true, she was a bit miffed. And then Tinkerbell had flown by in a huff without saying hello, and her grumbling was so frantic that Aaya had heard her in her mind, something about banishment and moody, mental, childish humans. As if this wasn't enough, when Aaya had gone out with Curly and their lot, showing two newcomers to Neverland the pass, they had been ambushed by pirates, led by the dastardly Captain they called Hook.

And then she'd been captured while the other pirates battled the Lost Boys. The blaggards had bound her, hand and foot, and roughly dragged her to Bull Island, where First Mate Smee, Hook, and a handful of others had rowed on a dinghy to the Neverland's second mermaid dwelling.

You see, the mermaid lagoon Peter visited was only a place the creatures sometimes came to as an enjoyable outing. Their real pack resided in _this _lagoon, with a channel of fast-rushing rapids of saltwater that apparently could bring the liquid-dwelling females to and from both lagoons in the space of twenty minutes. There were far more of the mermaids here, with their mixed fish-human looks and hungry black eyes.

The villians had tied Aaya to an upright tree-trunk rock, resembling such a thing in both shape and size, on a small strip of pebbly land where the water was quickly rising.

The bones of several different Neverland inhabitants were scattered on the rocks. A few rare tree-spirit skeletons, a human skull, many fish bones, and other types of body parts that were unidentifiable; they'd been so ravaged by the shimmer-tailed creatures.

Captain Hook stood on a rocky outcropping on the land a good twenty feet away from her, and she noticed his light-colored hair darkening at the roots. He was even beginning to grow a mustache.

She remembered how Peter, brave Peter, had chopped off the pirate's hand with his dagger in their last showdown. Now, as if using his last name as a bitter pun, Hook actually had a real _hook _in the place of his hand, an iron claw that made Aaya shudder to look at it.

But looking at it reminded her she had valiant companions that could come to her aid.

"They'll fight you," she said in Kaw language, satisfied that the man could not understand her. She could say what she liked. "My friends will rescue me. Peter will come to settle the score, and this time he won't stop at your other hand."

It felt good to say these things, to pretend like she believed them. How could they come in time? The tide was rising.

Hook smirked down at her, the picture of heartlessness. "Smee, alert the men around the lagoon's edge," he said in that quiet, horrible tone, his eyes still on Aaya.

"What for?" Smee replied in his gravelly, grumpy voice.

"Well, as I understand it, the devil creatures living in this stretch of seawater will tempt them in and carry them off to rip the flesh from their bodies."

Smee's eyes widened.

"As the legends tell it, anyway," Hook said with a grim look of amusement. "And I can't afford to lose men before I exact my revenge."

"Revenge?" Aaya asked in English, quite by accident. She had vowed not to speak to them, at least not in their own language, until she had either been killed or saved.

"Ah, the savage Princess speaks," Hook said, still smirking. His eyelids were lowered in a bored way. "Yes. Your friends will come to rescue you, that much is clear, but they won't be leaving."

"You would kill them?" Aaya said, trembling with fury, not fear. "You raised them like they were your children. Now your heart has become as cold as the crocodiles'."

Hook's mouth tightened, and he narrowed his eyes. "You don't intimidate me. I have unfinished business to tend to with one of your lot, and he can't fly away this time. Not when I have his Princess. The runt never could leave his companions to fend for themselves; it was his biggest flaw."

"Peter will kill you," Aaya said, her dark eyes flashing contempt. She raised her chin, ever the royal, dignified in the face of death. "He isn't afraid of you."

"Oh?" Hook growled in a low, soft voice. "Peter doesn't have the courage of a killer."

"He has the courage of a hero," Aaya retorted.

"Then he really has no courage at all," Hook spat back, pacing the rock as he watched her.

Aaya was about to reply, but Hook turned his back on her and strode out of view, disappearing through the tall grass.

Smee returned, double-knotting the ropes around her hands and giving them burns in the process. "Here, now," he grumbled, with a throaty, nasty laugh, "when them merpeople come along, try not to scream too much. My ears are sensitive."

"Smee!" snarled Hook's voice, suddenly very angry and echoing through the lagoon, the walls of boulders bouncing the sound off of each other.

"Eh? Cap'n?" Smee's head lifted, and Aaya saw with a sneer that the pirate's eyes lit with fear at the sound of his master.

"Let the savage go. I've got a better plan. Send for Starkey, and tell him to keep the men on the outskirts of the lagoon. Under no circumstances can they come near the water, is that understood?"

"Let her go? Certain, are you?" Smee grouched.

"Do I need to repeat my orders with the tip of my blade?" Hook snapped.

Aaya saw his shadow curl over the boulder to her right. The water sloshed around her hips now, cold and unrelenting.

"No, no, send for Starkey, untie the savage, I've got it now; just had a bit of water in me ear," Smee said, cackling nervously as he undid the ropes around Tiger Lily's wrists and ankles.

Smee hobbled away, muttering irritably, into the foliage, yelling for Starkey.

Then Hook appeared himself, his sword drawn. Aaya was crouched on her rock, preparing to jump for land, the water halfway up her calves now that she was on her feet.

Hook blocked her way, standing on the only stretch of land she was near enough to in order to jump. "Just where do you think you're off to?" he demanded quietly.

"You set me free," Aaya insisted, hatred burning in her gaze. "You told them to untie me."

"I did no such thing," replied Hook with a menacing glare. "You aren't going anywhere."

"What is it now, Captain?" 'Gentleman' Starkey, dressed in blue with his pathetic Spanish accent, emerged to the rocks around the lagoon with Smee at his side. He sounded irritable.

"Why aren't you at your post?" Hook said, not even glancing at him.

"Well, you sent for 'im, Cap'n," Smee explained, when Starkey's eyebrows pinched in confusion. "Remember?"

Hook looked at them now, his gaze full of bloodlust. "Go back to your post, Starkey," he ordered, his tones still soft and vibrating with frustration.

"A-A-Aye, Captain," Starkey stammered, hurrying away.

"Tie her up, Smee," Hook practically whispered, gesturing to Tiger Lily.

Then he pointed his sword at Aaya, as if to warn her that if she tried anything, he himself, personally, would slit her open.

Hook slowly walked back into the brush.

Clouds formed overhead, and a small round of thunder rolled above them. Smee was in the middle of re-imprisoning Aaya when Hook's voice came again.

"Mister Smee!" it snarled. "Just what are you playing at, idiot? Un_tie _her!"

"But you just _said_..." began Smee.

He was interrupted by Hook himself, who darted out of the grass.

"Who are you, imposter?" he shouted. "Are you a spirit?"

"Not at all," replied Hook's own voice. "I am James Hook, Captain of the _Jolly Roger_."

"If you are _Hook_," Hook hissed between his teeth, frustrated and nervous, "then who, pray tell, am _I_?"

"You?" chuckled Hook's voice darkly, the way he did when he was about to really harm someone. "You're a codfish. Only a codfish."

Smee eyed the Captain with a pale, befuddled expression. "Codfish? There's demons pokin' fun at us here, make no mistake. Only demons play with ye before they kill ye!"

"It's a trick," Hook snarled in a murmur. "There are other forces at work here, Smee, perhaps a tad bit fleshlier than demons." Motioning for Smee to continue tightening Tiger Lily's bonds, he glanced around.

Aaya began searching for the 'demon' as well.

She would not have seen him if she had not accidentally looked in the right place at the exact right heartbeat of a moment. Peter's black-haired head stuck out only once from behind the highest of black-rock cliffs around the lagoon. The cliff was like any other, only it was just the edge. It was as if someone had sliced off the rest of it, and now it was a precarious, incredibly-tall sheet of rock with an outcropping. Peter was flying and keeping his patterns under such control that he was able to hold still, hiding behind the cliff itself. When his mouth moved next, Hook's voice came out. Then he disappeared behind the cliff again, winking at Aaya when he saw her looking. Her heart twinged with awe at this newfound ability of his; she could have sworn upon her life that it was the evil Captain speaking.

Of course, this image made more sense.

"Untie the savage, codfish, or I'll plunge my hook in your heart, understand?" said Peter in Hook's voice.

But Jimmy Hook was a clever villain. He knew his small-minded First Mate was being decieved, but not he.

"Hook, tell me, if you can," began the real Captain. "Have you another voice? Another name?"

"No," responded Hook's voice scathingly. "I'm Hook. I have no other voice. No other name belongs to me. Ridiculous notion."

But Hook had almost guessed who was behind this clever plot; now he just needed confirmation.

He stooped as low as any human being could have in this exact situation, in his exact position. He used a game he had taught Peter when they'd first begun to get to know each other after the man had rescued the then-ten-year-old lad from the workhouse, in Hook's fencing academy while they'd been practicing sword duels, instructing the boy on how to use the weapon for the first time.

It was a bittersweet memory, a horribly cruel trick to play, and because of the innocence forever trapped within him, Peter could not resist such a familiar game. The idea was to pick a noun, and have your opponent guess certain words until he or she named it. It had been Peter's favorite thing to do.

"Another form, perhaps?" Hook called cunningly. "Vegetable?"

Now, when Peter heard Hook begin the game, he stared into space, eyebrows lowered, and he blinked hard at the flashbacks it provided. What was the devil playing at? It gave him such a simply fond memory of the good old days that the innocence gripped his tongue and mind and he almost lifted higher into the air.

So of course, because of this magic, he had to play.

"No," Peter answered, still in Hook's voice. "Not a vegetable."

"Mineral?" Hook asked, followed the sound, walking toward the base of the cliff, far below Peter.

"No."

"Animal?"

"Yes."

"Animal, are you?" Hook said, pulling out a rifle.

Aaya wanted to shout warning to Peter, but he may still have the advantage of his hidden location, so she kept quiet. Besides, the water was nearing her neck.

"Very well," Hook shouted. "Are you a man?"

"_Never_!" shouted Peter in his own voice. He clapped a hand over his mouth.

How could he be so stupid? But in his ecstasy that his split personality was causing him (he had been winning their little game, after all), he had forgotten the plan for the moment. His childish, innocence-clogged brain shoved at him the indignant thought, _Man? How dare he! I want always to be a boy, and to have fun._

Glancing at his own shadow against the wall, Pan reminded himself that he was cured. He _was _cured, wasn't he? Tink was wrong. The sight of his shadow didn't push the innocence away, though.

Quickly, Peter used Hook's tones again, calmer now.

"No," he said, giving a very short, malicious chuckle to add effect. "Not a man."

"Boy?" Hook asked, glancing about. He knew the owner of the voice was near. He recognized it when it had answered the 'man' question. But _where_ near?

"Yes!" shouted Peter, again in his own voice. This time the innocence would not let go of him. He was trapped in his now-immature mind.

Aaya's mouth was covered in water now; a quarter of the land Hook stood on was under the salty liquid as well, about an inch of it. She couldn't warn Peter that Hook had spotted his shadow on the cliff.

Peter was watching her, still behind the cliff rock, but he had quite forgotten (in his kiddish personality) that he had a plan of rescue, and his mind was on the game and staying hidden so that Hook would not get his answer so easily.

Peter pressed his hands to his temples, trying hard to fight the innocence, but it was no use. Hook's clever game had let the flood in.

"Ordinary boy?" Hook inquired.

"No!" scoffed Peter.

"Wonderful boy?" Hook said mockingly.

But Peter's clueless demeanor took it seriously, his boyish pride hitting him in waves now. "Yes, that's it!"

"I see. Are you in London?" Hook called, readying his gun.

"No," Peter snorted.

"Are you here?"

Aaya, the water now up to her nose, shook her head violently, knowing what state Peter was in by the giddy sound of his voice, but didn't dare open her mouth underwater.

A sleek, scaly feeling whisked past Tiger Lily's ankle. A mermaid tail.

"...Ye...yes," Peter finally answered, losing the battle for his mind completely for now. Now a smile that looked almost mad sprang to his lips cheerily. "Give up, do you? Can't guess?"

"Certainly not," Hook sneered softly, pointing his rifle upward; he had caught sight of Peter's foot. "You're much too good at this."

"All right then, but the games all for quits, you know!" Peter said, hands on hips as he floated there. "I've won."

He came out of hiding.

"I'm Peter Pan," he said, smirking and crossing his arms. "You lose!"

"Oh, I've only just begun to play," Hook answered, and lifted his iron claw as the gun went off.

In the same heartbeat that the bullet shot out of the rifle, the Captain's hook gleamed in a sudden flash of lighting, right at Peter's eyes. _A hook. Hook...Jimmy. James Hook. **Captain Hook!**_

Instantly his innocence was picked up and tossed mercilessly back to his heart, where it swarmed and angrily tried to take over again, but to no avail.

Peter flipped his dagger into the air in a single second, catching it, and held it up, deflecting the bullet.

Hook wasn't beaten yet. He was jubilant that he'd discovered the boy, and the mere sight of his enemy made him crave battle.

The very same thing was happening to Peter when he locked eyes with the pirate.

Aaya watched them, her nose and mouth covered with water. A mermaid, redheaded, appeared halfway out of the water, hissing at her. She wore a blouse-looking torso made of strung-together seaweed, and she would have been beautiful if she weren't baring her teeth at Tiger Lily, raising claws, about to drag her off.

Suddenly the mermaid's hissing stopped and her whole body jerked. She froze and slumped into the water, which turned red quickly around her. She'd been stabbed! She was dead, floating there the way a human would, had it perished in the lagoon.

Confused and frightened, knowing the scent of their kind's blood would draw more of the creatures, Aaya struggled to get free.

And then the bonds around her hands were cut loose, and she began trying to swim away.

Her ankles were still tied together. She began to sink as soon as her body left the rock.

A strong arm around her waist heaved her up, and Aaya coughed.

Curly was beside her now, kicking madly for the stony shore. "Don't look behind us!" he ordered above the roar of the rapid channel, which was growing stronger with the tide.

Aaya could already feel the mermaids grouping together at their backs, and then beginning to follow the two children.

Curly pushed her onto the rocks and she grabbed his arm, pulling him up after her. They flopped down, panting, and his face was redder than usual with the exhaustion of muscling through the water and mermaids to free her.

"You were very brave," Aaya told him kindly, after retching out water she'd swallowed. "Thank you, Curly."

"Yeah, well, Peter was goin' a bit slow for me," Curly gasped, soaked and shuddering. He winced.

"What's wrong?" Aaya asked.

Curly grimaced and sat up, then crashed back down again on his back, yelping. "It's nothing," he said, which was a terrible lie.

Aaya crawled over to him and saw three long, bloody, dripping claw marks going down his arm, the blood even more wet from the lagoon, and probably stinging like crazy. It had, after all, been _salt_water. He should have fainted cold from the pain.

But the curly-topped blonde boy was strong. His British accent trembling when he spoke, he said, "Peter...he's gone again, isn't he?"

Aaya glanced to where Peter was facing off with Hook, diving toward him and thrusting and parrying one moment, floating back up to regroup the next.

"Not anymore," Aaya said hopefully.

Peter's giddy smile was indeed gone now; he was jabbing at the pirate like he couldn't wait to get a piece of him.

Tiger Lily looked back down at the boy. "Curly," she said, shaking his good arm a little. The lad's face had gone pale, and his eyes were closed. "What happened to you?"

"Got in...got in a tangle with a mermaid," Curly breathed, coughing up seawater. "Tried to keep me from untying your hands," he choked out, shivering. "She had pretty sharp claws."

Aaya ripped off the sleeve of her torso and wrapped the material around Curly's arm, not ceasing when he gritted his teeth and flinched. She knew how to care for the wounded. Tugging the brave boy to his feet, Aaya dragged him into the bushes.

"Curly!" cried Tootles, clubbing a gagged and bound pirate (Bill Jukes, to be exact; he'd almost given their hiding place away) with a stone in his hand when the man struggled to wake up. "What's happened?"

"The mermaids got him," Aaya explained, her Indian accent thickening with her stress. "Quickly, help me get him into the boat!"

Twins, Nibs, and Tootles helped her push Curly into the Kaw rowboat they had been given a year ago, and the group of them rowed out to sea.

* * *

Wendy's day was going a bit better than Aaya's.

With the distraction Peter had promised, she had successfully found her brothers still tied together in a dingy, looking scared witless at the mermaids swarming their boat. The creatures weren't even trying to charm the boys; they were just hissing and terrifying them, probably trying to paralyze their prey before tipping the vessel.

Wendy had Peter's flute. He'd given it to her with clear instructions on the way to the island.

Quick as you please, she put it to her mouth and blew as hard as she could.

The screech it made without proper use of her fingers! You would have thought some poor sparrow was dying a dreadful, slow death somewhere in the forest.

The mermaids, growling and making liquidized roars at the noise, dove back into the water and swam rapidly away.

"Wendy!" Michael cried joyously, squirming.

"Hold still, you; d'you want to be fish food?" John reprimanded him.

Wendy almost laughed with relief. She pulled their boat to shore with a long branch and untied them, embracing both her brothers tightly.

"Hurry, we've got to help Peter!" she said as they rubbed their sore wrists.

Michael picked up her branch and John pulled out the sword Tootles had let him borrow during their visit to the Kaw Tribe.

They looked so grim and ridiculous that this time, Wendy did laugh, and they acted very put out.

"Look here, if the Lost Boys can do it, so can we!" John insisted.

"Yes, of course," Wendy said, putting a hand over her mouth to stop her twittering. "Do forgive me, sorry. But you know Peter doesn't like it when you call them the Lost Boys."

"That's what they are," Michael grumbled. "They haven't got a mummy."

Wendy crossed her arms, lifting her chin. "Well, they do now."

Her brothers cackled at her.

"Why not? If they've got no real female companionship..." Wendy glowered back, then gave up, throwing her arms in the air. "Oh, let's just go!"

She led the way to the edge of the lagoon, on the opposite bank of the spot where Peter and Hook were battling.

Peter swooped down when Hook stepped onto a higher rock, and their blades met again. Pan twisted, and again Hook's sword and his dagger clashed.

"Your Princess thinks you courageous," Hook smirked, shoving him back.

Peter dove toward him again, aiming for the man's arm, but Hook thrust his sword out, and the boy ducked with amazing speed. "She thinks _you _a coward," he retorted. "That proves she's smarter than you think!"

"Is that so?" Hook sneered, stabbing and missing by an inch. "Twice she's been captured by my men, and yet you call her smart?"

"Compared to a codfish, anyonelooks brilliant!" Peter said, gritting his teeth in a sort of furious grin, and lashed out at Hook's throat, but the iron claw caught his knife and jerked it out of his hand.

Peter caught the dagger and shielded his chest just before Hook stabbed into it. "Suits you," he said cheekily, nodding to the hook.

"You're afraid to kill, boy," taunted the pirate. "True courage comes after you've thrust a blade into another man's heart, not sever his hand and leave the rest of him to rot!"

Peter kicked him off the rock with one foot and pinned him to the ground with his dagger at Hook's neck. "Oh, you were rotten to the core long before that," he hissed.

Hook sliced Peter's shoulder with his blade and kicked the lad away with both feet.

Peter did a backward somersault through the air, still aloft, and gripped his shoulder with one hand, wincing in pain and letting out a low grown through his teeth. But he met Hook's next attack with the same strength.

"Stealing Aaya isn't gonna get you the mineral," Peter snarled.

"What makes you think I want your pixie dust?" Hook growled back, swinging his signature hook.

Peter recoiled backward while flying, his shoulder throbbing. Confused and dazed, he glared at the pirate. "You don't want it?" he repeated.

Hook smirked.

Peter pointed his dagger at him, well out of reach now. "Then what are you after?"

"I want to see you dead," Hook said, with a horrible determination in his eyes.

This both surprised and infuriated Peter. He realized that, even with all their past days together, he wanted to see Hook lifeless as well. This man had raised him to live a life of lies and crime. He had never actually cared. Not enough.

"Then have at it, _Jimmy_," Peter said, tilting his head mockingly and speaking through clenched teeth again, that bitter, nasty grin popping up again. The same grin he'd used when he was about to cut Captain Bonny (the _Jolly Roger_'s previous commander) from her lifelines over a canyon.

Back on the other side of the lagoon, John, Michael, and Wendy Darling were all battling three burly pirates: Michael whacking a dazed Smee into the water with his stick (almost accidentally; he'd been swinging it about so carelessly), Wendy parrying against Starkey with her own sword Peter had equipped her with.

John was up against Bill Jukes, the biggest of the three and not really the brightest. The muscular man brought the sword down on John's head, but the raven-haired, bespectacled boy thrust his sword up just in time, very clumsily, quite possibly saving his own life.

Wendy heard a grunt to her right and a slight splash.

"Peter!" she gasped, unbalancing Starkey with her blade and letting him stagger backward, slamming his head against a rock and falling unconscious.

Peter was laying across the rock in the very middle of the lagoon, too weak from blood loss to fly, the wound in his shoulder now joined by a wound in his side from the iron hook. His head stirring, he tried to get up, only to collapse again from exhaustion and pain. His arms were splayed out, and one foot dipped into the water.

Hook, more than a little agitated because he couldn't get to Peter way out in the middle of the huge body of water, narrowed his eyes.

The Captain called, "Another time, Pan. If you survive." He used the lad's last name as if it were an insult, and added, "I'd mind the tide if I were you. Jukes, Smee, take Starkey and meet me at the boat."

Smee clambered from the water, and he and Bill Jukes dragged Starkey into the brush. Hook melted into the grass and just like that, the pirates were gone as if they'd never been there in the first place.

"Peter!" Wendy yelled, pulling John to his feet. "Peter, can you hear me?"

Peter struggled to sit up, but the blood coming from his side trickled into the water and he exhaled in pain. "Wendy," he called, "get...get your brothers and get out of here."

"Not without you," Wendy told him determinedly, beginning to wade in.

But Peter, distressed at her approach, tried again to come upright, much to his own agony. "No," he grunted. "No, go on; the place'll be flooded in a while."

"I say, can't you fly, Peter?" John asked, wiping sweat from his forehead.

Peter actually gave what sounded like a chortle; his favorite way to laugh. "We'll see," he grimaced. "Go, Wendy. You three still...still ought to be able to fly, all right?"

But Wendy couldn't think any happy thoughts. She was too horrified. Peter was bleeding into the water, wounded awfully and barely conscious, laying on a rock and too weak to fly away while the tide rushed in ever stronger.

"The stick," she cried, and took Michael's weapon from him. She stretched it out as far as it would go, and it almost touched Peter's rock. "Peter, grab onto the stick!"

Peter eyed it warily. He took it with both hands and all three Darlings pulled. But when Peter's agonized yells and tight expressions could be heard and seen, Wendy dropped the stick; she couldn't take it.

Peter rolled himself with great pain back onto the rock in his former position. "I'll be fine," he called to them, for he knew the words he was about to say might convince them to leave. "You...go. I'll be...I'll be back for dinner, Wendy, I promise. Tell the others."

So he had heard her "mother" comment earlier, near the pirate dinghy. He _did _have a tree-spirit-magic way of sensing things. Perhaps this affected his ears as well.

John pulled at her hand, even though none of them wanted to leave their hero there. Wendy kept tears from springing to her eyes as she pictured Peter alive and healthy, flying into her room the night before (it seemed like ages ago now) and how excited he'd made her.

She lifted into the air and had to keep herself from looking back at the broken boy on the rock to stay up. Her brothers slowly joined her in the sky; she had a feeling they'd been thinking the same things she had.

And, falteringly, they floated off, leaving the raven-haired, eternally-young Peter in the hands of the tide.

* * *

**(Author's Note: Next chapter coming soon! Guys, I'd really appreciate it if I got some really detailed feedback on this fanfic, okay? Don't leave any of your thoughts about the chapter out! I love getting reviews and reading them, but if they're one-sentence reviews, I feel like I'm not doing so well. I mean, if not for your enjoyment, why would I write this at all? So detailed reviews are most helpful for Neverland: Part 3, okay? Thanks! ~Doverstar)**


	10. Chapter 10: How to Pretend

That evening, the Lost Boys and the Darlings spent the next few hours in the Kaw village, waiting for news of Curly, who was in the infirmary of sorts in the tribe, and feeling very glum.

Aaya emerged, looking exhausted herself, and approached the group.

Nibs stood up immediately when he saw her. "How's Curly?" he asked.

"Doing better," Aaya said with a small smile. "His wound is clean and re-wrapped, and we expect him to be prepared to travel back to your home by sunset."

"That's wonderful news," Wendy said, trying to cheer everyone up as much as the Princess was, but she was still upset about Peter.

When Tiger Lily saw her, she blinked. "Hello," she said, realizing that this was one English human she'd never met before. "I am Aaya...Tiger Lily in your language. My father is the Chief."

Wendy curtsied to her, and Aaya, unsure what this meant, simply nodded and smiled half-heartedly again.

"Are you Peter's new friend?" Aaya asked her. "When will he return?"

Wendy's smile dissolved and she looked away.

Aaya turned to the others, who glanced everywhere but directly at her, and she took Wendy's arm rather urgently, pulling her aside. "Come with me."

They walked a little ways out into the forest.

"Is Peter dead?" Tiger Lily asked bluntly, afraid of the answer but deciding to come out and say it anyway.

Wendy still would not look at her as they walked.

"Is he all right?" Aaya pressed.

"I...I don't know," Wendy said quietly.

"Tell me what happened," Aaya ordered gently, and they both halted.

So Wendy told her, almost crying when she finished with Peter's draining form on the rock. She was an excellent story-teller; Tiger Lily almost cried herself when she pictured her friend, alone with the mermaids and the rising water.

"Peter's strong," Aaya said when they went on walking. "He will make it."

"Yes," Wendy agreed, sniffling a bit, fingering the acorn around her neck.

Aaya watched her, trying to think of something to say. Wendy seemed incredibly nice, and very brave, the way she described Hook with anger and spoke of Peter so fondly, humbly recounting her part in the fight. Tiger Lily found herself liking the girl more and more.

"It's pretty," she finally stated, looking at Wendy's necklace. "Your trinket. Where did you get it?" She meant the chain, but Wendy took it as whole.

"Peter gave it to me," Wendy said, sounding a bit stronger now. "'It's just an acorn, I know, but you see, I've only ever had a dull sort of life, and something from Neverland..." she trailed off, holding up the acorn and twisting it a little.

"That was very kind of him," Aaya said, fighting a small twinge of jealousy. Had Peter given the girl this gift that meant so much to her out of the same innocence that caused him to bring her those tiger lilies? Or was it a certain magic stronger than the mineral dust?

Wendy nodded. "He knew it would make me happy...Princess, what if I never see him again?" She sounded ready to break down, and Tiger Lily didn't want that in the least.

"Don't worry." Aaya put a hand on her shoulder and forced a smile, trying to reassure Wendy as the English child looked at the Indian royal. "Peter will return. The pirates won't get what they want so easily."

Wendy blinked a few times, straightening. "You are awfully sweet, Princess; it's no wonder Peter favors you so."

"Favors me?" Aaya repeated, eyebrows dipping in surprise.

"Thinks highly of you, I mean."

"Oh." Aaya nodded numbly. Then she looked up at Wendy. "How did he come to bring you to the Neverland?" she asked. "What made him offer?"

"Well, you see, my Uncle Barrie—he isn't really my Uncle, but we like to think he is—he told us all stories of the Neverland, and Peter and the boys, and of course, you, too. It was an ordinary night, not much going on. We went to bed same as usual, and when Peter came into the room to look for his shadow, I found him." Wendy purposefully left out the part about the lad crying; she got the feeling he wouldn't thank her for mentioning it to the lovely Tiger Lily. "He couldn't get his shadow on, you see. He sat there on the floor, quite an unhappy person, and when I saw him—you can imagine how excited I became—I sat up in bed, and I asked him his name, and he mine. Once we were properly introduced, Peter told me about his unfortunate predicament. Of course I was very eager to aid him. The foolish boy! Princess, he tried to stick it on with a bar of soap!" Wendy giggled.

Aaya had been listening with pleasure; Wendy really _was_a fantastic story-teller. But when she mentioned the object she referred to as 'soap', she was a bit perplexed, and her smile wavered. "Soap?" she repeated, confused. "What is soap?"

"Oh, dear, sorry. I'd forgotten you...well, you wouldn't know about those things." Wendy stepped nimbly around a thornbush and went on fingering her necklace. "Soap is a kind of...er..." She didn't really know how to explain it without a reference.

Then she picked up a handful of muddy clay from a creekbed they came too, forming it into a rectangle. Normally, being a lady, she would be frightfully opposed to even touching such mucky earth, but she was still a child, and the feel of the easily-molded substance between her always-irritatingly-clean hands was so delicious that she didn't care.

"It's like this," she said, holding it out. "Feel it, Princess."

Aaya reached out and touched the clay, running a finger gently along its top so as not to disrupt the shape Wendy had crafted it into. "It is smooth," she said softly. "But not sticky. Why did Peter want to use it?"

"Oh, it isn't made of clay, really," Wendy said, putting her hand in the creek water and letting it whisk the mud away satisfyingly into orange-red, liquidized smoke, cleaning her hands and nearly freezing them at the same time. "It's made of...well, I'm not sure, but it _is _sticky. That's why Peter wanted it for his shadow, I think. It only feels like clay sometimes, but a bit harder, you know...er, perhaps you don't." She trailed off awkwardly, then tried again, "It's used in my world to get people clean. Michael just detests it when the maid, Liza, used it to wash him, so I suppose he hid it underneath his bed, you see, to try and keep her from doing it again."

Aaya nodded, trying to keep up. She found pleasantly that she understood most of what this strange child from the mainland was babbling about.

"Peter wanted to stick his shadow onto his foot with the soap, but it doesn't quite work that way. It only sticks for a short few seconds. And I suppose it was very boyish of him to try out such a ridiculous idea, but then again, it could be the only thing he thought would work at the time."

Aaya ran a hand along the leaves of the bushes as they walked, listening and thinking that Wendy did tell amazing stories, but she seemed to enjoy talking a little too much for comfort.

As if reading her thoughts, Wendy cleared her throat, a little awkwardly. "Um, anyway," she said a tad more timidly, "I helped Peter join with his shadow again by sewing it on."

"Sewing?"

"Like..." Wendy took a grass blade, ripped a hole in it, and pushed a twig through the hole, again and again in the regular sewing fashion. "It's what you do when you want to make clothes; tie the threads together."

"You mean," Aaya said, excited that she was getting it now, "like weaving baskets?"

"Oh!" Wendy laughed. "Yes, just exactly like that, I think."

Aaya chortled along with her. "Go on."

"Right, yes. So I sewed Peter's shadow on for him." Wendy's eyebrows pinched together in sudden thoughtfulness. "And then...it was so queer. He seemed very pleased, of course, when he found it worked, and he'd been acting the perfect gentleman during the time previous...but when he realized his shadow was back with him again, he started behaving quite silly."

Aaya's head jerked around. "What do you mean?"

"He started jumping about. He even forgot I'd sewn it on in the first place. Thought he'd done it all himself. Peter didn't even thank me." Wendy grunted.

"He must have been caught by his innocence again," Aaya growled, cursing the magic inwardly. "So the shadow hasn't banished it from him."

"Banished what? How do you mean? Everyone's got innocence in them, haven't they?" Wendy said, completely confused. Confusion was a feeling she hated with a passion.

"Not everyone," Aaya said darkly. "According to Tinkerbell, it is very rare. Peter has a lot of it; the tree-spirits trusted his innocent heart."

"I remember," Wendy replied, picking up the hem of her robe as she stepped over a fallen tree. "They stole his memories. For a short while, of course."

"Yes," Tiger Lily went on, a little peeved with Wendy's interruptions. It was _her _turn to explain things now. "And were you told how Peter...how he changed with his innocence guiding him?"

"Oh, absolutely! It's my favorite part of the story," Wendy informed her giddily.

"It isn't just a story," Aaya insisted. "Peter really scared us. And with his shadow gone, he began to turn into that changed boy again, but stronger. He had to get his shadow back, in your land, to stop it from taking over completely."

"Oh, dear," Wendy said quietly. "Then that is what came over him. How horribly nasty I was to him afterwards! Wendy, you foolish girl!" She tweaked her own nose, something she'd had a habit of doing since she'd been a toddler, punishing herself for doing things she wasn't proud of later on.

Aaya bit back a smile of amusement.

"But he's all right now, isn't he? With his shadow?" Wendy demanded, her worry for Peter increasing.

"I'm not sure," Aaya responded, looking at the ground as she walked. "There are still signs of the innocence within him."

"So _that's _the reason for his mischief on Bull Island!" Wendy gasped. "Oh, how perfectly dreadful, to fight your own mind! Innocence should be a _good_ thing. Poor Peter!" Wendy glanced at Tiger Lily. "Thank you for talking to me, Princess. It really has helped, you know."

They started to go back.

Aaya nodded to her solemnly, the Kaw way of saying _you're welcome_. "You don't have to call me Princess. Call me Aaya," she said. "Or Tiger Lily."

"Not that Aaya isn't pretty, because it most certainly is," Wendy replied with a smile, "but I think Tiger Lily is so much more romantic, don't you?"

Aaya laughed. "No one has ever put it that way before."

They chattered on as girls their age would, returning to the Tribe at their own leisurely pace, enjoying each other's company.

* * *

Curly was moved later that night to the home under the ground, and Wendy joined her brothers and the boys shortly after. Because Curly and Peter were both immobile or absent, Tootles took charge and gave the Darlings the grand tour.

The way you got into the home under the ground was this: the boys had each equipped it with tree slides built into the tops that carried you down into the home itself, and each tree was fitted specially for each boy. Of course, they would need to change this soon and give the Darling children their own trees, but for now they could use Slightly's; no one had trouble fitting through his. It was a tad larger than the others.

The home had several rooms that were like caves dug into the sides of it. When you slid down your tree, you landed in a huge room with a long table made out of a stretching tree stump, which Twins explained was the Never tree, or used to be, anyway. The Never tree grew so quickly, with so much magic in the timeless land, that sometimes it reached the ceiling by the next morning, and the boys had to chop it down again, which was a surprisingly easy task; the tree's bark was soft as butter and easy to slice through. It acted as their table, as aforementioned, and there were equally-as-fast-growing mushrooms, which were bigger than regular mushrooms (one could say they were giant mushrooms, but then they would be mistaken for a size taller than yourself, and this was untrue of the fungai plants), growing around it as chairs. They were charming colors, and each boy knew exactly where to sit each day because they had all been assigned a color of their own. This prevented quarreling (most of the time).

Wendy saw a small hole in the wall in the large room, with leaf curtains hanging over it. "How lovely! Who lives in that one?" she inquired.

"Tinkerbell," Nibs answered. "Or...she used to." He sounded bitter. He wasn't incredibly happy about the way Peter had treated Tinkerbell. Nibs was especially fond of the tree-spirit; there is a small, sweet tale involving a phobia of spiders that the fairy had assisted him in overcoming, refusing to tell anyone of his fear later on, so as not to have him lose face, but we can talk about that another time.

Wendy could not help sneaking a peek inside Tinkerbell's old room, and she gasped in delight. There was a mushroom of normal size for Tinkerbell's own chair, and the floor of the tiny space was littered with evergreen pine needles, still as freshly colored as if they hadn't been plucked. Mineral dust scattered over the ground and engulfed the air in the room. Tinkerbell even had a small bed. Wendy could not tell what the bed was made of; it was glowing very brightly and was a gleaming white shade, absolutely filled with mineral dust to show she did in fact use it. Just being near such a small amount of the magic made Wendy lightheaded with happiness, but she quickly backed away, remembering that it was also deadly to mortal, human forms.

Tootles proceeded to show Wendy the boys' separate rooms, save Curly's; the curly-headed boy was asleep in his, recovering. Each room's entrance had no door, so they made due with palm fronds hanging down as curtains that hid the contents from sight.

Tootles' room had a mushroom stool a pretty sky-blue color, glittering and cold to the touch, and his bed was made of oak wood with several stacks of dead leaves on it; an unidentifiable gray animal skin covering it for a bedspread, with another fur on top as a blanket. His pillow (everyone's pillows were like this in the home under the ground) had been woven into its shape by long grass blades, no doubt a kind gift to each of the Lost Boys from the Indians. Inside the grass weaving was what looked suspiciously like more animal fur. Michael was repulsed; he was thinking of their faithful dog Nathaniel back home when he saw it, but he quickly got over it after seeing Twins eye him suspiciously when the youngest Darling curled his little lip at the skins.

Slightly's room was a tad bit cramped, and his bed was like Tootles' (everyone's was, what with their multicolored mushroom chairs growing in certain corners of the room and a bed similar to the rest's), save for the crocodile skin covering the floor as a makeshift carpet. A stick was pushed into the earthy wall as a hanger for what appeared to be the clothes Slightly must have worn the first time he entered Neverland; a suit, a hat, trousers, and shiny black shoes.

Twins had two mushroom stools in his room, and his bed was bigger than the others'. A rock in one corner served for a desk of some kind, and on it sat two copies of Foxton's encyclopedia. His London clothes were strewn about on the end of his bed, and Wendy longed to tidy it up for the young lad, but she knew he wouldn't be pleased. It actually made the room seem more cozy.

Nibs' room, surprisingly, had no mushroom acting as a chair. Nor did he have a rock acting as a desk. He slept on a bed like all the others, and a Greenwich mountain compass on a gold chain hung from the bedpost. But other than that, his room was empty.

"Don't you get tired of so much space?" John asked, grunting when he saw it.

Nibs shrugged and shook his head. "Not really."

"There aren't any chairs!" Michael pointed out, as if Nibs didn't already know this.

"I can sit on the floor."

"But doesn't it get rather lonely? Mother always said furniture made the room seem more homely." Wendy told him kindly.

"There's me half the time," Nibs explained. "I take up enough space as it is. And sometimes Tink came and chatted with me."

They gave up trying to convince him to add something to his little cove, and moved on to Peter's room.

Peter's room was different from all the rest. Slightly informed them that Peter had discovered the home under the ground before the others had, with Tink at his side, and he'd claimed the only room that had already been there when he'd arrived.

"How did he come to find it?" John asked.

"He fell," snickered Twins. "Down an old crocodile burrow. Used to be its nest, this."

"We sealed it up good and tight, though," Tootles assured them. "The entrance, I mean."

Peter's room was magnificent. It was a sort of cave, some parts of it rock, most of it dry earth. The ceiling went up higher than the other rooms, and his palm frond curtains were still green, unlike the rest of crew's, which were dry and brown by now. Wendy saw them glitter silver, and tried to pretend she hadn't noticed as they entered. There was a small pool in a corner, a pool of water about the size of a bathtub itself, and the water was frigid. It was so beautifully white; when you got near it, your face shone the same color with the mystical glow it gave off. John even ventured to taste it, but when the boys caught him at it they fiercely ordered him not to. Peter, they said, was the only one who could drink from it without burning up from the inside out and exploding into ashes. The same water in this pool was the kind of water Peter had bathed in under order of the tree-spirits a year ago; the mineral dust spring. Tootles explained that Peter sometimes sat on the edge and dipped his feet in, or splashed his face with the everlasting water in the mornings, or even just drank from it to make him feel happy when he was having a rather bad day. Of course, all this happened in the past year, when Peter's brain was halfway corrupted by thick innocence part of the time. A tiny trickle of the water spread down the rocks into the pool, coming from a crack in the dirt wall.

Another part of Peter's room that was different from the other rooms was that it had a small outcropping of earth high near the ceiling, where the Lost Boys said that Peter would sometimes fly up to, where no one could disturb him, and play his flute, thinking about nothing and thinking about everything. It had a bed exactly Peter's size, also partly shed with mineral dust, especially his pillow. The bed wasn't made like the others, as if the last time Peter had slept in it, he'd been in too much of a hurry to exit the room to spread it neatly. Needless to say, the animal fur blanket was on the floor, and this wouldn't do, no matter how displeased it made the motherless boys. Wendy promptly made the bed until satisfied with its appearance. And to her surprise, the boys looked at her all the more admiringly for it, even Nibs, the eldest among the tour guides without Curly or Peter. They really _hadn't _had a mother figure, or even someone who acted close to one! Twins looked so pleased with her that she resolved to make his bed for him any time he forgot it, just out of kindness.

The boys set to work digging out rooms for the Darling children in the west corner of the home, and by the time they started complaining of hunger, they had finished making the caverns. Michael's bed wasn't yet made, and John had no stool, and none of the three had pillows, but Twins offered to share his too-big bed with Michael until they could get one for him, and Tootles assured them that he would go and request pillows from the Kaw women the next day.

Slightly suggested they start supper, and John, whose stomach was growling severely, asked him what there could possibly be to eat in the underground house.

That was when Nibs moved quite easily what had before looked like an immovable boulder in one corner, and a stash of fresh fruit and crocodile meat could be seen.

They all sat down to eat, and, coincidentally, there were three new mushrooms around the table, as if accommodating the Darlings' arrival.

Presently they began making conversation, all of them uncomfortably trying to ignore Peter's empty chair and eyeing Curly's with pity for the bedridden boy.

Michael and Twins were becoming fast friends, and it came about in the topic of conversation that Wendy was to act as their mother.

At this, the Lost Boys all stared at her, confused.

"You?" Slightly stammered to Wendy, blinking a bit. "You're too young to be a mother."

"Haven't you ever heard of pretending?" Wendy laughed.

They stared even more intensely.

"You mean you _haven't_?" John exclaimed, horrified. He stopped munching his slice of watermelon in shock.

"Stupid, stupid," Michael tutted. "You should've started long ago!"

Twins was getting agitated. "What's pretending, then? Go on."

"It's only the most luscious sort of game you can play," Wendy began. "For example...Michael, you be Peter, and John, you be Captain Hook. Watch closely, gentlemen! My brothers are the best pretenders in London."

John immediately left the table, ecstatic to be able to play before finishing his portion, unlike what he would have to achieve at home, and joined Michael at the center of the room.

John curled his finger into a hook, and picked up a remarkably-long root on the ground, pulling it from the ground with surprising ease. "Come down to earth, Peter Pan, and face your doom!" he crowed.

Michael stood on the table, much to Wendy's irritation, and thought a single happy thought. You see, he still had his temporary mineral dust power.

He floated staggeringly into the air; it was beginning to wear off, and poked a stick at his brother. "Down to your level, you mean, Hook!" He quoted, knowing the scene in the caves by heart, and landed. "I'll beat you without any help!"

The two boys began a fencing duel, and they did it so brilliantly that the Lost Boys were on the edge of their seats halfway through.

"Give up, Pan!" John shouted. "I'll have that orb yet!"

"Over my dead body!"

They were ad-libbing now, and doing it very well.

Then they stopped, and Michael grinned at Wendy. "Wendy, Wendy, you be Captain Bonnie!"

The crew all looked at Wendy like sleepers coming out of a nap, blinking as if in a trance.

Wendy smiled, bouncing in her seat a little. "Oh, but she isn't in this scene!"

"We'll make it up!" John decided.

"Oh, wonderful, yes!" Wendy hurried from her mushroom chair, making sure there was no mango juice on her face primly, and went to John's side.

The boys watched, completely taken.

Wendy's accent was so similar to the former Captain of the _Jolly Roger _now that Twins began shuddering with memories of fear at her voice. "Thought ye could escape, did ye, boy? We've got ye trapped!"

"Beg for your life!" added John in Hook's quiet, vibrating growl, scowling magnificently.

Michael backed up against the wall.

"Fly, Peter!" shouted Twins, and covered his mouth when he remembered it wasn't really his friend.

Nibs chuckled at him for it, but then almost closed his eyes when John's imaginary 'hook' neared Michael's throat, and that was the end of his teasing.

"Say yer prayers, runt!" Wendy hissed, taking John's root and holding it to Michael's chest.

"Never!" shouted Michael gallantly.

"Wait, it's two against one!" Slightly called.

"Yeah, that isn't fair," Michael agreed, as if this had just dawned on him. His British accent thickened a little with the whine.

"He's right, you know," John said to Wendy, a bit disappointed he hadn't gotten to gut 'Peter' yet.

"Precisely," Wendy said, grinning. She turned to the boys with Bonnie's accent, her smirk almost an exact picture of the deceased Captain's mad expression. "Which of yer litter'll help this puny lad?" She gestured to Michael, who was backed up against the wall again with John's imaginary hook pointed to his nose, eyes crossed.

There was a silence, and Twins shifted uncomfortably. The youngest of the Lost Boys certainly wanted to join in, but could he do it as well as their new companions could?

"I will," he said nervously.

"Me too," added Tootles, more to give the awkward young one company and comfort in this new situation rather than a desire to play. He was too old for this kind of game. Wasn't he?

"Right, then, come up here, you lot," John ordered.

Tootles and Twins left the table and walked slowly to the middle Darling's vicinity. Nibs and Slightly looked on, delighted.

"You can be yourselves, if you like," John told them nicely, "but you've got to act frightened!"

"What for?" Tootles asked, snorting.

"Why, we're Hook and Bonnie!" Wendy exclaimed indignantly. John waved his 'hook' finger about menacingly to prove it, and she gave them Bonnie's sneer. "You've got to play along. That's part of pretending. What would you do if Hook and Bonnie were in this room, Twins? Right now, just here in front of you?"

"Run and hide, or find a sword," Twins said immediately.

"What if they had Peter cornered?" John countered.

"I'd help Peter!"

"Then do it!" Wendy urged.

"But he's not really here, and he's not really trapped," Tootles said, confused. "It's just you two against Michael."

"But you've got to _pretend_," John explained patiently.

"Imagine!" added Michael.

"Picture them here, where me and John stand, you see?" Wendy folded her hands behind her back. "Here, we shall make it easier. John-I mean, Hook?"

'Hook' curled his finger again and scowled at the boys, and Wendy spoke with Bonnie's accent, sneering nastily at them.

"What'll it be, lads?"

Twins was the first to really do it. For a split second, Wendy was Bonnie and John was Hook.

Tootles was next, and when he looked at Michael, backed against the earthen wall, he saw Peter there, glaring defiantly at the pirates and lifting his chin with that cocky smile.

Twins picked up a root of his own and darted toward Michael. "Hold steady, Peter! Come on, Toot's!"

Tootles blinked for a moment, then decided he did not care what Nibs and Slightly thought. He joined the younger boys and said, "Keep back! Peter's with us!"

"About time you lads showed up!" Michael said in his best Peter voice, and lifted into the air, wobbling a little.

Tootles began to fight Wendy, their roots clashing with harmless _thuds_ instead of a sword's _clang_, his eyes turning her into the vicious Bonnie; but facing her felt so much safer, yet he could see her in his imagination. And so, fighting what he made believe was the ferocious, mental Captain woman was a delicious experience for him.

Twins put a twist on the story by letting John kick his feet out from him rather gently, and he purposefully stumbled onto the ground, getting into it. When 'Hook' raised his root sword over Twins, the boy appealed to the table, where the two older orphans sat watching, enthralled.

"Slightly," he called, laughing with glee, "help, can't you? I'm dead for sure!" These words didn't go with his boyish cackling, but he was having such fun that he didn't care.

Slightly licked his lips, a little uncertainly, and then sprang from the table as if someone had fired a shot at him. "Hang on, Twins, don't fret, I'm coming!"

"Lend a hand, eh, Nibs; we'll have her begging for mercy in no time!" Tootles shouted.

Nibs finally bid goodbye to self-conscious adolescence and joined his mates in battling Wendy and John, Michael flying about a bit precariously, sometimes knocking John down from behind or having a small root duel with Wendy from time to time.

For a few more spectacular minutes, Wendy and John were Captains Bonnie and Hook, and Michael was Peter, leader of the now apparently fearless Lost Boys, and the battle raged on with whoops, shouts of mock anger, and quite a bit of laughter.

"Oy, I get stuck on a rock and this is what you snipes do without me? How's that fair?"

Everyone froze and turned most hopefully toward the voice at the entrance to a certain flying boy's tree, hardly daring to believe it.

"Peter!" they all shouted, and ran toward him, root swords left on the ground instantly.

Peter was smirking, leaning with his arms crossed against the east wall. His hair was messy, his clothes wet, but somehow his wounds were healed.

"How did you...?" began Tootles, smiling ear-to-ear.

"The mermaids," Peter explained. "They took a bit of a shine to me. Healed those little cuts, too. They aren't so bad once you get past those teeth, eh?"

"Mermaids?" cried Twins disbelievingly.

"Took a _shine _to you?" Slightly exclaimed, jaw dropping.

"_Little cuts_?" Wendy added, but her heart was bursting with relief.

"Told you I'd be home for dinner, didn't I?" Peter said, looking at her with that cocky smile. He put his hands on his hips. "Now," he said cheerily, "what is it you lot were doing here before I dropped in?"

Nibs looked uncomfortable, and Tootles looked embarrassed. "We were...just, um..."

"Pretending!" Twins said defiantly. "We were pretending. And Michael was you and John was Hook and Wendy was that lady Captain, and we were us and we just had 'em on the run..."

"On the run? Rubbish!" John proclaimed.

"You were Bonnie?" Peter glanced at Wendy skeptically.

"Yes," Wendy answered with a triumphant look.

"_You_?" Peter teased.

Wendy put on Bonnie's smirk and looked at him dangerously out of the tops of her eyes. "Aye, boy, and ye'll come to regret yer snarkey little remarks."

Peter's head recoiled in surprise at her amazing way with accents. His eyebrows shot up.

Wendy flanked John and elbowed him; he held up his fake hook and replaced his vacant expression with the scowl. "Two against one, y'see!"

"Is that so?" Peter said with an amused look, crossing his arms.

"Aye. Slice 'im t'ribbons, Hook!" Wendy growled out.

John proceeded to tackle Peter, who laughed when he hit the ground after getting over his initial surprise again. "Hey!"

"We've got 'im, Peter!" Twins shouted.

The Lost Boys hurried to Peter's aid, pulling a thrashing John off of him.

"Little imps!" John bellowed. "I'll run through the whole lot of you!"

Peter, trying not to laugh, pulled out his dagger. "Tie him to the chairs, boys! Hook ought to suffer!"

"Nooooo!" wailed John in an impressive imitation of a frustrated Jimmy Hook.

Watching them with a grin on his face, Peter felt a tap on his shoulder and turned to see Wendy pointing Tootles' sword at him, which had been laying about near the entrance to the boy's room.

"No so fast, runt," Wendy said in Bonnie's accent. "I've got ye alone now, away from yer brood of brats!"

In the face of the sword, Peter's amused look had vanished at first, but when he saw it was only Wendy, his tension left him, but he still didn't smile, playing along.

"Any last words, boy?" Wendy said, trying hard to bite back a smile.

"Yep—catch me if you can!" Peter shot into the air, laughing, and Wendy shot up after them, and they began a mock battle near the ceiling.

In their glee, dinner was forgotten, and the rest of the evening was endless games of pretend as the Lost Boys tried out their new favorite occupation.

* * *

**(Author's Note: I really loved writing this chapter. Like, to bits. Anyway, don't forget: detailed reviews are totally appreciated! Also, if you wanna listen to "How to Believe" by Ruby Summer when the kids start pretending, you can. That's what I did when I wrote that scene. Totally fun. Okay, tootles! {No, I don't mean the Lost Boy.} ~Doverstar)  
**


	11. Chapter 11: John's Lesson

Curly sat up the next day with a splitting headache and a stinging arm, but his strength had returned, and he could move quite easily now. Twins had visited him before bed last night, telling him about the pretending he and the others had done. Curly had been scornful at first, calling it a silly child's game and knowing quite well what it was, but when he noted that Nibs, Slightly, and even Peter had all gotten in on it (and had an incredible time doing so), he began to rethink the game. Wendy even suggested they put on a little show of pretending for him in his room, which was a bit difficult with such lack of space. When they did (this time Michael was Gentleman Starkey along with Wendy and John's pirate captain forms, and the rest played themselves), Curly was smiling reluctantly, giving up the idea of hiding how much he enjoyed it. They even let him join in by pretending they were all doctors and he was a patient who might not make it. At first he wasn't very good at pretending, but he soon started to get the hang of it. Aside from all three Darlings, Peter really was the best at it. Perhaps it was the innocence he was letting in whenever he did it.

Aaya came by later to check on Curly personally, and as she dressed his wound she would tell him stories of her ancestors. Sometimes she would switch to Kaw language, which was a bit confusing, but she soon translated it back to English when she realized what she'd been doing. Curly was in a cloud of bliss the entire time she was with him, which surprised him a little as bliss should have been the last thing on his mind, what with the headache and the mermaid claw marks down his arm. But he really was having a fantastic time with Tiger Lily as she complimented his bravery one more time and re-wrapped his bandage, launching into another, more gruesome tale of one of their recent crocodile hunts.

Peter came in next that morning to visit him. Normally he would have clapped him on the shoulder, cocky smirk at the ready with encouraging words, but he knew this would probably hurt the lad, and besides that, he didn't feel very chipper whenever he looked at his blonde companion.

"I'm sorry," he said for greeting, looking uncomfortable.

"What for?" Curly said, sitting up with a short wince.

"I was the one who got you hurt," Peter explained grimly. "I was stupid at the lagoon, letting Hook get the better of me. I should've stuck to the plan. It's my fault you're like this."

"Yeah, well, I'll mend," Curly replied awkwardly, instead of agreeing cheekily with him. "Besides, you got a few scrapes too, I hear."

"Serves me right, I know," Peter chortled. "Mermaids fixed me up, though. Aaya says you'll be better in a day or two."

Curly nodded thoughtfully. "Are you gonna go after Jimmy?"

"_Hook_," Peter corrected irritably. "No, um, not today. I figure he can sit tight awhile and wait. Besides, I've got other plans for the week, soon as you're up and moving again."

"What?" Curly sat up even straighter, his eyebrows dipping. "Didn't you see what he did to Aaya? He's got to be stopped before he tries nabbing her again!"

"I know," Peter replied, looking away a bit guiltily.

"Then what are you waiting for?" Curly snapped. "What plans are more important?"

"Not more important," Peter assured him. "Just...a bit more fun."

"_Fun_?" Curly spat, anger stirring within him now officially. "Neverland isn't safe with the pirates loose!"

"Neverland isn't safe, period," Peter countered. "Listen, Curly, d'you want to be fighting and risking more blood every day until we've all been picked off? What if he tries the guessing game again, or something like that? We both know I...I'm not strong enough to fight the mineral dust. I've got to wait until my shadow shoves off the last of it. Then I'll go after Hook, I promise."

"And what are you gonna do while you wait?" Curly demanded.

"Soon as you're well again we'll start planning things out," Peter insisted. "But um, today we were gonna go explore the east islands..."

"Go exploring? Are you mad?" Curly growled. "Peter, we're at _war_with Hook and his band. Why would you go off with their ugly mugs breathing down your necks?"

"Wendy wanted to see the rest of Neverland," Peter explained. "Her brothers too. It's only gonna be for the afternoon."

Curly scowled at him, speechless with rage.

"Look, we'll keep Hook at bay," Peter promised. "But it can wait a day or two, can't it? Get better soon, Curls."

And he left the room.

* * *

"So if you're playing our mother," said Tootles to Wendy as the Lost Boys landed their canoe on the shores of one of the biggest fruit-bearing islands Neverland had, "who'll be father?"

Wendy shrugged, but she glanced up at Peter, who was flying along above them, landing on the sand and waiting for each of his crew to get out and join him. "I'm not sure," she said quickly, "but it ought to be the oldest among you."

"Rules out you, Nibs," Slightly teased.

Nibs glared at him. "Rules _you _out too."

"And it mustn't be Twins or Tootles, either," Wendy said. "Or either of my brothers, you know. They're all the younger of us."

"Not Curly," Twins ordered as he climbed out of the boat along with the others. "He's not got the way of pretending properly yet." Twins had been acting as the chief Lost Boy on all things 'pretend', simply because he'd been the first to try it out. Of course, Tootles could say this as well, but we'll let Twins have his moment.

"What about Peter?" Tootles suggested.

Peter heard his name and turned to look at them over his shoulder rapidly; he'd been surveying the best route into the woods. "What?"

"We were just wondering who was gonna be father if Wendy's mother," Twins explained, smothering a snicker.

Peter glanced at Wendy, and couldn't fight the shy grin, dipping his head at the thought. "Guess I could give it a go, yeah."

Wendy grinned back. "What fun, Peter!"

Peter laughed, which only made her smile even more.

"That's settled, then," Slightly said. "Anyone up for a fruit fight?"

"Fruit fight?" Michael repeated, wrinkling his nose in befuddlement.

"I'll show you," Twins offered kindly, and Michael was hit square in the face by a mushy mango.

"Hey!" Michael peeled it off and ran in a random direction into the foliage, searching for ammunition.

The Lost Boys scattered, loading themselves up with the sweet-tasting weapons.

Peter lifted into the air, and Wendy joined him.

"Isn't it wasting the fruit?" she asked worriedly.

"Nah, it grows back in a day or two," Peter said, shrugging. The sight of her smiling at him still made some innocence trickle in, and he smirked, calling as he dove down into the trees, "See you on the battlefield!"

Wendy laughed and landed, hurrying into the woods and plucking fruit off of various bushes and low-hanging branches.

John was ducking, and when Tootles peeked around a tree, his arms loaded with fat, juice strawberries, John ducked and pulled out his sword.

Tootles, grinning as if used to this in a fruit fight, dropped his ammo and began fighting John with his own sword, twisting magnificently. He had been taught by the best: Hook and Peter both.

But John was not so educated. He backed away and stumbled over a root. He was at Tootles' good-natured mercy in a minute, his sword falling from his hand clumsily and the boy's blade tip pointed at his throat.

Peter appeared, landing beside them. "Yield, Toot's, I've got it from here."

Now John knew he was done for.

"Right, Peter." Tootles, smirking at John knowingly, left the scene, gathering fruit as he went.

Peter picked up John's sword, helping him up with one hand, and giving the weapon back to him. "Here's your problem, John, you're holding it all wrong."

John glanced at the sword bitterly. "That's not the only problem I've got. I'm no good at fighting, Peter."

"Ah, I don't know," Peter said, pacing a little in front of the boy. "I saw you against the pirates. You did all right there."

"'All right' isn't good enough," John complained miserably. "_All right's _what gets you killed in a duel, isn't it?"

"Most of the time," Peter agreed. "Not if you've got natural skill. And far as I can tell, you do. Y'just need some teaching."

He drew his dagger.

John took a step back. "What if you hurt me?" he said quietly.

"Then I'm sorry in advance," Peter chortled. "Blade up, John, go on."

John held up his blade.

"Little rhyme Jimmy taught me when we were practicing: _Don't hold it so tight your knuckles go white_," Peter recited, shaking off the fondness that came with the memory, reminding himself Hook was a different man now. "Hold it just tight enough, see, so that you've got a bit of grace in your swing." He demonstrated. "There, now try it on me."

John did, and he lost his balance the first time, but when Peter encouraged him to try again, he got it right.

"Perfect," Peter told him with a half smile. "Now when I come at you, hold the blade up like this-there you go-and with luck on your side, mine'll bounce off. That's parrying."

John practiced parrying a few time and was delighted when he did it beautifully. Peter's sword didn't come even an inch close to wounding him as John deflected it.

"Good," Peter said, nodding. "You're getting it, John. Y'know, you're a pretty fast learner." He shook his bangs out of his eyes.

"I am? Ripping!" John beamed at his hero's praise. "Can I try attacking you?"

"Yeah, give it a go." Peter stood back and held up his blade, his free hand up and slightly behind him in a fencer's pose. The corner of his mouth tugged upward in a smirk, ever the cocky one.

John copied his pose exactly and to the letter, thrusting his sword toward Peter's chest. Peter parried just in time and spun, and when he stopped twisting his sword met John's with a loud _clang_! Peter's eyes met the English boy's with approval, and John smiled winningly. Then he brought the sword down toward Peter's head, and Peter thrust it back.

John swung his sword left, and Peter ducked, but John's sword arched beautifully through the air and Peter had to think quickly so as not to get stabbed. He could barely catch his breath. A few more times their blades clashed, until John knocked Peter's feet out from under him and pointed the sword at Peter's nose.

Peter's eyes crossed; he was panting heavily. He chortled, laughing a bit weakly. He grinned.

"What do you think, Peter? Did I do it?" John gasped for air.

Peter scrambled to his feet, still heaving. "What do I _think_? I think you're one to watch out for. Well done!"

He clapped his hand into John's and they shook in the boyish fashion of congratulations.

Looking back on it, it was perhaps one of the most gratifying moments in John's life.

* * *

That night, there was another game of pretend, and Curly was able to attend dinner. He didn't join in the playing afterward, preferring to watch and trying to forget his anger with their leader after his argument with Peter earlier in the day.

After dinner, their game involved the same characters as usual, as everyone loved Wendy's Bonnie accent and John's imitation of Hook, and Michael's attempt at Starkey's Spanish tongue was so amusing that they insisted he stay the pirate for one more night.

It happened that night that, in their pretending, Bonnie, Starkey and Hook had stumbled across a secret map that led to a mermaid treasure (the treasure was the extra fruit in the usual place it was kept, beneath the boulder). Peter and his crew were playing themselves again, following the pirates to the treasure so that they could thwart them and keep it safe.

Peter was the first to challenge the 'pirates', and this time he battled John as Hook. The Lost Boys, Wendy, and Michael all stopped what they were imagining and watched in awe as John fought just as well, if not a mite better, than the rest of the crew (except Peter, of course, who was the most skilled out of everyone there).

"Give up, Hook!" Peter shouted with that cheeky grin of his.

"Never!" John bellowed, and parried magnificently.

When their duel had finished, Peter getting the better of the Darling lad, everyone broke into cheers. Peter stepped back with a smile to let them engulf John in their admiration for his newfound talent.

"John, you were amazing!" said Wendy.

"Teach me next, Peter, me next!" said Michael.

"Nice twist there at the end," said Tootles.

"Where did you learn to duck so quickly?" said Slightly.

"You've got to fence against me sometime!" said Twins.

"Looks like you've got a new student, Peter," Curly said to the raven-headed lad.

"I just taught him the basics," Peter said, shrugging.

"Yeah? He'll follow you about like a lost puppy now," warned Curly with a smirk.

Peter raised an eyebrow teasingly. "I haven't got the time to be a role model, Curly, remember? I thought we were at _war_."

It was a friendly jibe, but it only reminded Curly of his agitation with their leader and he fell silent, not responding. Peter used to take everything so seriously, business-minded and optimistic about it. Where had that personality gone now? Wasn't he worried about the pirates? A year ago the boy would have immediately confronted Jimmy, again and again, over and over until he had rid Neverland of the villain forever.

But now he seemed to want to put it off. Curly's suspicions rose once more. Was the innocence still there, and Peter's shadow was unable to fend it off until it was gone? Was the toxic magic still feeding off of his childish heart and wouldn't ever leave?

If that was the case, they were all in danger.


	12. Chapter 12: Day of the Raven

Michael dreamt he was drowning.

Well, drowning seems like too soft a word for it. We'll say he was slowly suffocating under tons and tons of freezing cold water where he couldn't move, only looking up at the light he would never see again. He couldn't yell out. He couldn't breathe. He couldn't even blink. His head was craned upward, his hair wafting around him. It wasn't silent and peaceful the way you think being underwater like this should be. It was filled with the sounds of hundreds of humanoid fish creatures with flowing hair, black, large eyes and long claws and fangs. Mermaids, drifting around him, waiting for the 7-year-old to die.

The hissing grew louder and louder, until there was nothing but the sound and the dark water around him, freezing his bones and making him sink without being able to even hold his breath. He couldn't inhale.

Then the mermaids attacked!

Michael woke up yelling, breathing hard in the little room the Lost Boys had made for him in his twine-blanket bed. (He would not sleep with animal skins; nor did Wendy or John.)

The little boy was trembling, and he hugged himself fiercely, wishing for a nightlight, something Mrs. Darling had always said was the eyes a mother left behind to guard her children. Without it, he felt if he went to sleep he would be devoured by his dream mermaids immediately, and his subconscious had no pity for him.

"I want to go home," the 2nd-grader whispered to himself. "I want to go home and see Mother. I don't want to be here anymore. I want to go home; please, take me home." He shivered rubbing himself, thought it wasn't cold. He didn't know exactly who he was pleading with; he just knew he wasn't fully awake and still felt as if he couldn't breathe, even though he was now taking several deep gulps of air.

His palm frond curtains whisked and Michael's whole body tensed in fear. Peter appeared in the dim glow Michael's burgundy-colored mushroom stool gave off.

"Nightmare?" asked Peter simply. He had his dagger drawn.

Michael nodded, a bit ashamed.

"Heard you yelling," Peter went on, standing by the side of the bed. "Are you all right now?"

Michael wanted to say that yes, of course he was all right, dreams were only dreams and it would be foolish to think any more about them after he'd woken up, but he found his tongue would not form the lie.

"No," he murmured. "I-I-It was awful."

Peter sheathed his dagger. He raised his eyebrows. "Don't s'pose you wanna tell me about it."

"Aren't you tired?" Michael asked; he'd always gotten a grumpy groan saying as much from John at home when he'd had bad dreams, and Wendy usually just sang him back to sleep without complaint.

"Not really I wasn't sleeping anyway." Peter gave him a half smile. "I've got time for a scary story. Give it your best shot." He sat on the mushroom stool, hunched over a bit, arms crossed in his lap and looking at Michael out of the tops of his eyes.

Michael told him his mermaid/drowning dream, in the best detail he could with his 7-year-old way of explaining things, and he finished with, "It's always the same, really _real_, every night, you know, like..." and he trailed off, faltering.

Peter nodded. "Yeah. I get it."

"You do?" Michael said, wiping his nose with his sleeve.

"'Course. I've had that happen before. Nightmares are...brutal." Peter stared into space, remembering the nightmares about his mother that that cursed innocence had given him, shaking his head slightly. He glanced at Michael, meeting his eyes. "D'you remember the battle on Bull Island?"

Michael nodded, eyes wide.

"Had you tied in a boat in the middle of the lagoon, didn't they?"

Another nod.

"Did you look into their eyes?" Peter asked quietly, so as not to disturb the other sleepers in the home under the ground.

Michael's eyebrows pinched. "Huh?"

"The mermaids. Did you look 'em in the eyes?" Peter raised an eyebrow back.

Michael nodded, remembering that heartless, hypnotic gaze. One quick glance, and then he'd been too frightened to keep looking. "Ye...yes."

"There you are, then. They've got this thing, see, when they lock eyes with you. Messes with your mind." Peter tapped the side of his head. "That's how they try to get you to dive in, you know, into the water? If you survive and resist, you get nightmares afterward." He dipped his head sideways a bit, as if apologetically.

Michael shuddered again. "Oh..."

"Happened to me the first time," Peter explained. "But um, don't worry. There is a cure." He slowly pulled his flute out of his coat pocket and stood up.

"A stick?" Michael said, squinting in the darkness. He leaned back a little. "You aren't gonna hit me with it, are you, Peter?" He had heard Twins talking of the way Peter got bloodlust in his eyes sometimes when he'd been taken with innocence as he'd fenced with the lads.

Peter chortled softly. "No, but if this doesn't work, I might try that. Mermaids, they like music. Look here. It's a flute, see?" He held it out to the little boy.

Michael took it and ran his fingers along the fine black wood. "What good'll this do?"

"Well, I told you," Peter said, the word _well _sounding more like a mumbled, very quick _wuh_ sound in his British accent. "Mermaids like music." He clapped Michael gently on the shoulder in his encouraging way. "Won't know 'till we try, right?"

These words didn't make much sense as an answer, but Michael trusted the flying hero, and he decided to just go with it.

Peter sat cross-legged at the end of Michael's bed. "Lay back," he advised softly, positioning his flute properly before he put his mouth to it. "Close your eyes. See those lights in the dark, behind your eyelids?"

Michael nodded, squeezing his eyes shut. "A little."

"Squeeze harder," Peter suggested.

Michael obeyed.

"See them now? All different colors?"

Michael nodded more rapidly this time.

"That's the lagoon, the one I've seen, calling you. Those colors are the mermaids' tails and the light off the water. Do you see it? Good. Now um, relax your eyes, Michael. Imagine the lagoon in daytime, all right? It's sunny. It's warm. The mermaids are...singing to you. In their language. And you're on a rock with the water, totally blue, all around you. Their eyes aren't black. You can only hear the song."

Michael did as he was told, laying his head against his pillow and closing his eyes, breathing a bit more slowly. He tried not to tremble violently when Peter mentioned the fish-like creatures, but then the older boy began to play the flute, cross-legged on the end of the bed.

The sound was beautiful. And the more normal the pattern of Michael's breathing got, the more those lights behind his eyes faded in their weird arches and dips, (if you close your eyes now, squeezing them, you might see these lights too), and they morphed into tails, shimmering, beautiful tails.

Michael could see, blurrily, the mermaids now in his mind's eye. They were smiling at him, not a hiss in sight. They were laughing. Some of them looked a little familiar. This one had mother's nose, another had her eyes, and they all had Wendy's lullaby voice as they sang in tune with Peter's flute.

The boy felt so warm now, all the way to the tips of his toes, and he could almost sense the sun on the water in the lagoon, reflecting onto his face as one of the mermaids swam by on her back, grinning prettily up at him and waving.

Peter played for twenty minutes more, watching Michael warily. He saw the little lad smile in his sleep, and he knew it had worked. Michael was dreaming of the lagoon at its best, when the mermaids chatted and sang, smiling at you and hanging on your every word, giggling at a joke you told in the loveliest of laughs.

Still playing, Peter left the end of the bed, backing out of the room with a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth, leaving Michael to play with the mermaids.

Continuing to walk backwards, he turned around and took the flute from his mouth in the same moment, and came practically nose-to-nose with Wendy, who had just been coming to see if Michael was all right; she had heard their voices.

The two very nearly crashed into each other, both were off balance by tiptoeing so that they wouldn't wake the others, and they were so close their noses almost touched, as aforementioned, in that split second. So as not to collide, they both backpedaled very quickly, awkward and surprised to see one another up so late.

"Oh, Peter, sorry, pardon me," babbled Wendy nervously, stepping out of his way.

At the same moment, Peter muttered, "Oh, um, 'scuse me," with one of his shy chortles and leaned backward.

"What are you doing up at this hour?" Wendy said, confused.

"I could ask you the same thing," Peter replied cheekily, innocence filtering in by the most miniscule amount at the mere sight of her.

"I was coming to see if Michael was asleep by now," she explained with a smile of amusement at his answer. "I-I thought I heard him yelling earlier, but I couldn't be sure, you know, so I waited to, um, to hear it again, and it never came. But I heard your lovely flute music."

"Yeah, he's all right now," Peter said, dropping his voice to a whisper to hint that she should do the same.

"What happened?" Wendy whispered back.

"I just showed him a trick to get rid of nightmares," Peter explained.

"He doesn't have them often," Wendy said thoughtfully. "When he does I sort of...I sing him to sleep, one of the little songs Mother sang for us when we were small."

"Yeah, well, flutes work too," Peter said playfully, holding up the flute and wiggling it a bit. "I'll teach you how sometime if you like."

"Yes, please," Wendy giggled. "I'd like that very much indeed!"

* * *

The next day, Curly was almost fully recovered; his arm needed to be handled carefully, but other than that he was fit again. So the Lost Boys went to pay the Kaw Tribe another visit, and this time Peter walked with them instead of flying, leading them along with Wendy at his side as the group talked about helping the Indians with their holiday preparations.

"What holiday is it?" Wendy asked Peter.

"It's the day they say the raven was created," Slightly explained before Peter could.

"They're the People of the Raven, so it's a big deal for them, I suppose you could say," Peter added.

"Like Christmas?" Michael guessed.

"Sort of," Twins replied, shrugging one shoulder. "It's a bit more daft than that at times."

"Brilliant!" John exclaimed, who was very interested in the ways of the Kaw. "We'll get to see it firsthand!"

"But if time never moves here, how do they know what day it is, really?" Wendy said. "I've lost count myself since we got here."

"They've got ways of watching the moon and the sun," Tootles informed her, "so it's sort of like a calendar."

"It's too complicated to explain," Curly said a bit grumpily. "Pick up your feet, Twins, I can barely move a step!"

"I _am_!"

When they reached the Kaw Tribe, they could immediately tell that something different was in the air, a kind of excitement that hadn't been there in the days previous. Everyone was smiling and laughing and bustling about in a big hurry. There were raven feathers being weaved into long grass blades from a nearby field, a sort of hanging decoration, like chains of paperclips, being stacked into a pile so that they could later be hung up on tree branches.

The children were even helping, collecting sticks and twigs for several bonfires around the village. The women were humming a strange tune the crew had never heard before as they braided their hair, or weaved more odd decorations, or prepared food.

A few of the hunters entered the camp from the east side of the cliff village, coming out of the woods with a huge crocodile being dragged along. The Chief himself was striding around, laughing heartily from deep in his stomach as he gave cheerful orders to each person he came across in Kaw language.

Shaka, the Tribe's 'Holy Man' and the only other Indian aside from Aaya who could speak English, noticed Peter, the Darlings, and the Lost Boys first and approached them with a nod and a slight smile.

"Greetings, boys. Have you come to join in the preparations for our Day of the Raven?"

"How can we help?" Peter said instead of hello.

Shaka assigned Slightly, Nibs, and Tootles the job of gathering firewood a little bit further from the actual camp, unlike the children, who found plenty of sticks and such in the village itself.

Twins and Michael were told to help some of the pre-teen Kaw boys make torches, which they were incredibly excited about. A chance at playing with fire? They were off in seconds.

Curly volunteered to help Aaya set up the torches that were already made, and John went with him.

"With your power of flight, you can reach the branches the rest of us find difficult to get to," said Shaka to Peter with a smile of amusement.

Peter smirked back. "At your service," he said with a dip of his head teasingly, and took the handful of raven feather hang-up decorations Shaka presented him with, taking to the air toward the nearest tree.

"Could I, perhaps, help him?" Wendy said, lifting a few inches off the ground. "I can fly a little too."

Shaka watched her with surprise written all over his face. "If that is what suits you, go ahead." And he turned to give new jobs to a few other Tribe members.

They had a marvelous time that day, and the friendships between Lost Boy and Darling children strengthened considerably with each conversation that was struck up.

When Wendy, with her slight fear of heights, would grow dizzy from flying, she would land, not wanting to leave him to do all the work, and instruct Peter on exactly where to put the decoration. Just being with her on such a beautiful day amongst friends, he was feeling so good that he let his innocence run as much as it wanted to, which surprisingly wasn't too much at all today. Maybe his shadow _was_ curing him.

"No, not that branch, Peter, a bit higher and to the left."

"Here?"

"Yes, that's all right. No, wait, bring it further out a little. More than that! You've hardly moved it. To the left, Peter!"

"Look, if I move it any more it'll slip. And then d'you know what it'll do? It'll fall and hit _you_, right in the eye, I expect."

Wendy laughed. "Oh, poppycock! Just a bit more, on the left, I tell you!"

Peter moved the decoration's grass loop a little off the branch, making a big show of it, then let it drop toward Wendy. "Whoops, duck, Wendy!"

Wendy let out a little shriek and ducked.

Peter jerked out a hand and caught it easily. "Got you!" he called down to her with his kid smirk.

"Peter, you are perfectly dreadful!" Wendy huffed in a giggle, smoothing her blue robe.

"Listen to me next time, then, and these things wouldn't happen!" he grinned down through cupped hands.

After another moment of laughter, Wendy called up, "Peter!"

"Yeah, what is it?" he replied, trying to position the decoration again.

"A little to the _left_!"

Next we will turn to Curly, Aaya, and John, who were putting rows of torches in a circle around the bonfires or outside huts.

The festivities had already begun, and they were just placing the last torches in their particular spots while squaws came behind them and lit each one.

"Your arm looks better, Curly," Aaya said kindly as she positioned the torch and Curly pushed it into the earth.

"Yeah, it does, doesn't it? All thanks to you." Curly nodded to her.

"Do the mermaids really drag people off to eat them?" John asked. "They're cannibals?"

"They can't be cannibals if they aren't human," Curly muttered.

"I don't know," Aaya said, "exactly what they do. But there are legends. I suppose if a victim survived..."

"No, no," Curly said, closing his eyes and putting a palm up. "We don't really want to know."

"_I_ do, Aaya, tell it to me," John begged, very intrigued.

"You do, and I'm leaving to help someone else," threatened Curly good-naturedly.

Aaya laughed. "Some other time, John."

The three of them paused as Peter strode by, walking backward with a kind of hop in his step, his flute in his mouth, playing of the most happy of tunes they'd ever heard him attempt, something that seemed as if he was making it up as he went along. A trail of Kaw children, giggling and shrieking, followed close behind him, almost as if they were either trying to keep up or trying to catch him.

"You're already done, Peter?" Curly called after him.

Peter pulled the flute from his mouth and looked up at the sound of his comrade's voice. "Finished early, you might say!" he called back. "Leading this bunch to a place where they aren't gonna cause much trouble."

The children hurried after the boy as Peter began playing the flute again, laughing. Curly's eyes followed them as Peter led the group to one of the lit bonfires and stopped the flute music.

"What's he playing at now?" Curly muttered.

"Let's have a look," suggested John brightly, hurrying after them.

Aaya laughed again and slowly walked toward the bonfire, taking her time.

Peter was in the air now, so that he could gain the attention of the children fully (as if he didn't already have it). He landed in front of the little ones, who were all seated on the logs around the bonfire.

"Aaya, d'you mind translating?" Peter turned to her.

The Indian Princess shook her head, smiling, and stood beside Peter.

"Right, listen up! I've brought my friend from the mainland here," Peter said to the children.

Aaya translated with just as much feeling in her voice, and the kids all exchanged excited murmurs and glances.

"Her name's Wendy," Peter went on, and Aaya repeated it in Kaw language, "and she's told me she'd like to tell you all a story."

Upon hearing this, the children either squealed or gasped or giggled.

"But you've gotta listen without interrupting," Peter told them, holding up a finger, "and um, if anyone tries to change the story, he'll be forced to fight John, there," and here he and Aaya both pointed to John, who waved slightly and awkwardly to the young ones as they turned round to stare at him, "for the chance to do so. Any questions?"

The children were either silent or they shook their heads. Then one little girl's hand shot up.

Peter nodded to her with a good-natured smirk. His innocence was peaking now.

When the girl asked the question in her language, Peter glanced at Aaya uncertainly.

"She wants to know if Wendy is pretty," Aaya said with an amused look.

Peter nodded to the girl again, grinning. "Yeah, I like to think so."

Curly raised an eyebrow, watching Peter. "Aaya, we ought to get back to the torches."

"Let 'em have some fun, eh, Curly?" Peter said, tossing his flute from one hand to the other. "Right, if there aren't any more questions..."

The same little girl spouted off yet another inquiry then and there.

Aaya translated. "Little Creek wants to know if you can help Wendy."

She said something to the children in their language.

They all cheered.

"What'd you say?" Curly asked, barely hiding his own smile.

"I asked them if they thought Peter would be good at it," she said simply.

They all seemed to know that Aaya was repeating what she'd said and they cheered again, even louder than before, which turned a few heads around the village.

"All right, but just _one _story," Peter said wagging one finger at them slightly, barely hiding his grin.

Aaya translated and they all began wriggling in their seats excitedly.

Wendy came out from behind a tree and sat on one of the rocks that was placed around the bonfire. The children watched her with the wide eyes of young people meeting someone new. They instantly liked her, of course, because she was as fair as she was kind. Her good humor seemed to be contagious; it spread as soon as she took her place on the rock and smiled at them.

The entire time the story was told, Aaya translated it.

"Has anyone ever heard of the story of Cinderella?" asked Wendy.

"None of them have," Aaya told her.

"Well, then, this is how it goes...more or less, of course." Wendy said, clearing her throat and smoothing her robe. "Once upon a time, there was a young girl named Cinderella."

Aaya copied Wendy's tone as she repeated it dramatically in Kaw language.

"She lived with her father, and they were both frightfully happy together. Then he married a beastly, awful woman who became Cinderella's stepsister, and she inherited two dreadful step_sisters_as well. Her father died of a terrible illness, and he left poor Cinderella to be her new relatives' servant. Can you imagine, working for your own family?"

A few of the children actually looked angry then, feeling sorry for Cinderella and bitter on her behalf as Aaya translated. They really were very good with reactions.

"One day, Cinderella made a wish," Wendy went on wistfully. "She made a wish on a star..."

"Second star to the right, to be exact," Peter put in, smirking down at the Kaw offspring. They couldn't help but smile back, delighted that he was directing his attention toward them.

Wendy grinned at him as she shot a glance at the flying boy, and nodded, "Oh, yes, absolutely! She wished on the second star to the right to be taken away from her horrid life. 'I wish to go to the Neverland,' says Cinderella with a deep sigh." Here Wendy sighed in a considerably heavy way, and some of the youngest sighed with her. "'I wish to fly away to the Neverland and to see the mermaids, and the pirates, and those charming Indians!'"

They all gave excited twitters when the Indians were mentioned, knowing she meant them.

"And then it happened, as if the star itself had heard her wish, and with a wriggle and a happy thought, Cinderella flew through the air, up into the second star to the right!" Wendy continued promptly, Peter pointing toward the actual star, and the children all looked up with wonder. "And here she emerged in Neverland, and she met a deliciously clever bunch of boys named Tootles, Twins, Slightly, Nibs, and Curly."

Recognizing the names, the Kaw audience turned to look at Curly, who fought a smile.

"They were led by the brave and daring Peter Pan!" Wendy went on. "For it was he who told the star of Cinderella, and whisked her away from her awful life!"

The Kaw children cheered, and Peter grinned, lifting into the air a little to add effect.

"They had so many wonderful adventures! ...Of course, it was not all fun and games," Wendy said seriously, and immediately all ruckus ceased. "Before long, Cinderella came face-to-face with..."

"Hook!" Peter took over, pacing in front of the audience dramatically, his innocence making his head buzz with the splendor of the tale. The children gasped in shock satisfyingly. "With his band of bloodthirsty pirates, he captured Cinderella as bait for the boys, and he told her to walk the plank!"

"No, no!" shouted Little Creek, the girl who had asked so many questions in the first place. The protest really didn't need a translator; she was shaking her little head so hard that her braids flapped about.

"And Cinderella walked the long wooden plank as one condemned," Wendy said in a low, doom-bearing voice, leaning forward.

"'Make her suffer!' says Hook," Peter added, "'Call on the crocodiles!'"

Wendy could hardly suppress her admiration at his talent for telling a story. It practically completed the private list in her mind of the many things she loved about Peter.

There was a loud outburst from all the children, no doubt in their own language begging for Cinderella not to walk the plank, to stand her ground.

"She walks slowly, with her head held high now in barely contained pride," Wendy went on, lifting her own chin. "No longer can we see the dismaying kitchen maid from the beginning of our adventure. Three more steps, two, one..."

Wendy was now acting out Cinderella's part, using one of the logs as the plank, hands behind her back as if bound while she slowly strode forward.

The children were all but biting their nails now. Aaya copied Wendy's voice as she translated, inwardly enjoying the story just as much as the young'uns were.

Wendy froze as if pausing her act-out, and glanced at the children. "The crocodile's mouth opens wide, all one hundred..."

"Two hundred," Peter corrected.

"All two hundred teeth sharp and ready to tear our heroine into pieces!" Wendy continued.

By now half of the adults and older children had joined them to listen to the story, including the Lost Boys, who were already a bit familiar with Wendy's tale-giving skills.

"Thunder crashes overhead," said Wendy dramatically. "Lightning nearly blinds the crew! Without a word or a yell, Cinderella bravely takes the final step forward, and plunges toward the water-dwelling monsters!" Wendy jumped behind a tree.

There was a mixed reaction from the large audience, among which was horror, protest, and loud statements in Kaw language of general unhappiness.

"Hook and his cutthroats pause to listen to her screams," Peter took the story from here. "Before long, Hook turns to his crew. 'There was no splash!' he exclaims. 'Not a sound!'"

"The dastardly pirates lean out against the notorious _Jolly Roger's _railing. 'Perhaps the beasts swallowed her whole!' suggests First Mate Smee," Wendy said from behind the tree, though no one could see her.

Peter was trying to contain his smile still in order to maintain the feel of the adventure, but it was growing difficult with the magnificent reactions. He strode up and down in front of the audience.

"We need a Hook," Peter called out to them. "Any volunteers?"

Aaya repeated it, and many of the children's hands shot up as the parents chuckled.

"This one looks fearsome," Curly said, pointing to a young boy of about eternally 4 or 5 years old sitting in the back of the swarm of young ones at the head of the audience.

"Come on up here, then, Hook," Peter said kindly to the boy, motioning for him to join them.

The little boy, not at all shy, raced to the front and stood jittering beside Peter with a large grin.

"Can you make a claw for me?" Peter asked, hooking his own finger.

The boy seemed to understand even without Aaya's translation behind him, and he hooked his finger tightly and made a grand growling noise as if to project evil.

"There it is, well done," Peter said, clapping him on the shoulder. He turned to the audience again. "Right, who here wants to be a pirate?"

No one raised their hands this time when Aaya said it, scowling fiercely.

"That's good. How 'bout just for the story, then?" Peter chuckled.

At this, every hand shot up.

"Right, all of you in this row here, get behind our Hook and look brutal," Peter commanded, gesturing to all of the youngest children.

Soon the entire crew of the _Jolly Roger _had been chosen, and Peter crossed his arms. "All ready, Wendy!" he called.

Wendy launched into the story again, shouting so that she could be heard. "Cinderella had plunged toward the crocodiles, yes, but Hook was not counting on one gallant hero to come to her aid when she needed it most!"

Peter saw Wendy motion for him to join her out of sight. He quickly floated behind the tree, and the children were so busy listening to Aaya's translation that they didn't notice him disappear.

When Wendy told him what to do next, Peter insisted it had to be done a bit more grandly. As he revised her plan, she gasped and clasped her hands together in approval.

"You've gotta get somewhere high," Peter whispered. "That tree branch there, above the fire, d'you see it?"

"Yes..." Wendy said, glancing up at the large, fat branch. "But Peter, if...if I cannot fly as well as you...?"

"I'll catch you," he promised. "You won't even feel the heat; don't worry."

She trusted him, nodding, and they quickly flew to their new stage above the Kaw Tribe, who were waiting for the next part of the tale they were so taken with,

"Let us now see the scene previous once more, from Cinderella's point of view," Wendy called down, appearing on the branch high above their heads.

The Kaw gasped and pointed, delighted. A show such as this, you see, had never been done for them before. It really was a brilliant idea.

"Here we watch as Cinderella takes her final walk," Wendy went on, closing her eyes tightly as she took the steps to the end of the branch, not wanting the temptation of looking down at the bonfire below. "Cinderella's pride is up, she holds no fear! Two more steps, yes, one more...and she jumps!"

There was a unanimous inhale of shock as Wendy dropped toward the flames.

Peter swooped down, catching Wendy, true to his word, drifting down to land in front of the fire as the Tribe roared and cheered and applauded.

"Peter Pan had saved the day once again!" Wendy said, laughing. She hadn't ever had such an incredible group of listeners, and their delight made her heart fizz with happiness. "He and Cinderella had thwarted the evil Captain Hook, and they all lived happily ever after!"

With the Tribe still laughing and hollering behind them, Peter and Wendy took their bows and quickly exited the clearing, darting into the forest a few feet away from the village, so as to let the charm of the story continue going a bit longer by keeping the characters/narrators from view.

"Oh, Peter, you were wonderful!" Wendy said.

"That was something, wasn't it?" Peter agreed, glancing over his shoulder toward the Tribe through the trees. "I've never done anything like that before. It was fun. Did you think you were gonna be roasted?" he asked, chortling.

"Me?" Wendy said giving him a mock look of haughtiness, hands on her hips. "I thought nothing of the kind! I knew you wouldn't let me fall."

"Where'd you learn to tell stories like that?" Peter said, changing the subject quickly.

"Uncle Barrie taught us," Wendy said quietly, and she looked a bit sober now.

Trying to cheer her up and distract her from thoughts of home, Peter went on awkwardly, "You were really brave out there, up in the tree, I mean. Did you really know I'd catch you? I could've been too slow, or..."

"Well...I have always dreaded heights," Wendy admitted. "And I suppose I was very frightened for a moment, but I was very grateful when you caught me," she added quickly. "I forgot to thank you, Peter!"

"You do a lot of thanking me, I've noticed," Peter pointed out cheekily.

"Yes," Wendy agreed. "What with the way you spoke of girls in my room, you remember. Oh, and for this!" She held out her acorn necklace.

"Ah, yeah, the kiss," Peter said, glancing down at it in her hand and smiling. "I remember."

"Have you still got your kiss, Peter?" Wendy asked almost anxiously.

"Never lost it." Peter took out her thimble.

"And...as I forgot to thank you for catching me...I don't suppose, Peter, you'd take a thimble now...would you?" Wendy asked, rolling her acorn between two fingers and fixing her eyes on it bashfully.

"I...I guess so." Peter was getting only a little confused. Did she mean a thimble _thimble _or did she mean...

He got his answer when she kissed him rather quickly.

Peter immediately felt the innocence pour into every corner of his body, filling his mind with cloudy sweetness and pushing him gently into the air. He felt the smile on his face increase into a pearly-white grin and he slowly drifted back down.

"I've, uh...really got to stop doing that," he murmured.

Wendy laughed. With that, they took their time going back to the Tribe that evening, planning their next story to tell.


	13. Chapter 13: Peter's Nightmare

"There are rumors, Smee. Rumors that he survived."

Captain Jas. Hook was standing at the railing of the _Jolly Roger_. His first mate was beside him, while the rest of the crew went about their duties, trying not to cross the unstable commander of their vessel.

"I don't see how, Cap'n," Smee growled back. "Them mermaids would've dragged 'im off quick, soon as they looked at 'im."

"It's been a week," Hook muttered, eyes on the waters. "I've kept count. Seven days, Mister Smee. Seven days losing sleep, restless because that pompous, arrogant excuse for a whelp continues to haunt my thoughts. If he were dead, wouldn't I be rid of it, Smee?"

"Rid of? Rid of what?"

Hook gritted his teeth, irritated that no one on this ship had half the intelligence he himself did. Bad form, living amongst half-wits. Form had been everything to the pirate lord, even in London. Knocking him from the top of public charts, he had been stupid enough to take in the street urchins that now called themselves the Lost Boys, and Hook's reputation had slowly dwindled away because of it. Good form was what he craved, even now. Because it was in the Neverland that he had a clean slate. If the only human beings to admire him in this dangerous, timeless land were a ship full of drunken pillagers, so be it. So long as it counted as good form.

He was quite mad by this time, you see.

"The _guilt_," Hook hissed.

"Guilt?" Smee snorted, because the rest of the crew was numb to this feeling.

"Rearing them as my own, Smee, and then battling them as if they were grown men committing a crime."

Smee was silent, listening without knowing exactly what his superior was getting at. Sometimes the Captain babbled on like this, but they all knew he would lead up to a plan. They were content to follow him with his goals now, whatever they may be. And if this involved flaying a group of upstart children to give him peace of mind, why not? It was pirate enough.

"Meanin' you ain't up to killin' 'em no more, Cap'n?" Smee finally said, knowing full well that this was a dangerous question.

"Oh, no," Hook said, taking a handkerchief from his scarlet coat pocket, polishing the tip of his iron claw. "No, I want to kill them. More specifically _him_. If I have to see his lily-livered parents every time I look at him, you can be sure I'll end his life just to cure it. He cut off my hand, Smee, without a moment's guilt for it, didn't he? I'm a thousand times as numb to it as he is. I've killed a Pan before. I can do it again." He seemed now to be relishing every word he spoke, as if imagining Peter lying bloody before his feet. "He can't be dead, Smee, if he won't leave my mind. I have to make sure. If the trap at Bull Island couldn't kill him, we'll have to go after something else he loves."

Smee felt bloodlust shoot through his body; he saw the same untame hunger in the Captain's eyes beside him. Hook uttered his terrible vow:

"I won't rest until that boy is floating dead in Neverland's seas."

* * *

Peter was freezing.

It was icy cold, so cold he could hardly feel anything. It happened every time he visited here. His bare feet landed against the snowy windowsill, and he peered through the glass, heart doing a tap dance of excitement. He knocked.

A woman with pale skin, fair hair, and dark eyes sat beside a cradle, rocking it gently.

Peter knocked again, but she didn't turn her head.

He caught sight of the infant in the cradle, and glanced at the woman's face. She looked blissfully happy, smiling with all the love she had on the new baby boy. Peter began pounding on the window, calling out to her, trying to get her to look at him. Just once. Just to see he was still alive; he was all right. He had returned.

Surely this was all she had hoped for since he'd been gone!

Bars curled down over the window, iron and frigid to the touch. The glass became foggy, until Peter could only see the woman's gentle smile, her gaze all for the child in the cradle, oblivious to the raven-haired boy outside her room and anything else. It was as if the window were playing a cruel joke on him, letting him see the one thing that nearly tore him to pieces.

He wouldn't give up! Peter beat his fists against the window, choking down a sob. Wind buffeted his black-and-silver bangs, freezing and merciless. He looked down at his hands, bruised and bleeding in some places, stinging because, as we all know, everything hurts much worse than usual in the cold.

Didn't she care? Didn't she want him? How could she not hear him? Could it be possible she didn't want to see him?

He went at the window again, yelling until his throat was hoarse, the edges of his vision becoming dark.

Still his mother would not look up.

Peter had been forgotten.

"Peter! Peter!"

Peter jolted awake, feeling tears staining his face. His blankets were on the stony ground of his cave-like room. He was caked in sweat, but he was shivering. He swallowed, his throat dry.

There was a strange girl of about thirteen at the end of his bed; she had been shaking him and was now pulling her hand away, looking concerned.

Peter instantly shot into the air, only a few feet above her. His voice was soft and clogged with tears. "What d'you want? How'd you get in here?" He pulled out his trusty dagger. "Well? Say something!" When she didn't reply, watching him as if stunned, he growled, "Answer me or I'll strike! I'm not afraid to do it."

"Peter," said the girl with wide eyes. "Put the knife down. It's only me!"

She wore funny-looking clothes. Bright colors he wasn't familiar with on garments. Blue as the sky. Her eyes were the same color. She was very pretty indeed!

She was wide awake at night too. No regard for personal fatigue? How bold! How inspiring! Just like him. He was never tired. Did she come to play a game? Well, she needn't have bothered. He wanted to be left alone with his hatred for mothers. The toads! She'd have to return another time. He didn't feel like games just now. He felt like crying and never stopping. But he wouldn't! He wouldn't give his wretched mother the satisfaction!

All this shooting through his clouded brain, Peter stared at her, not comprehending, his eyebrows lowering distrustingly. "Who are you? What d'you want with me?"

"I'm Wendy," she said gently. "Don't you remember me?"

In a flash it all came back to him, kicking the head-pounding innocence out of his foggy mind. But the raw memory of his nightmare still stayed, and he didn't brush his tears away as he landed back on the bed beside her, sitting there speechless.

"It's all right, Peter," Wendy told him quietly. "You were..." she paused, not wanting him to know she'd seen him crying, even though he really didn't care. "You had a nightmare, didn't you?"

Peter nodded stiffly, his head filled with images of his mother barring him out. "I can't keep it away when I sleep," he whispered.

"The innocence?"

Peter jerked his head toward her, startled.

"Tiger Lily told me," Wendy explained quickly. "It sounds dreadful Peter, but you know, innocence is something to be cherished."

"No it isn't," Peter murmured, practically bristling. "It's...it's killing me."

Wendy nodded, watching him as if she understood completely.

He felt compelled to speak, to vent, if you will. "I thought when I got my shadow back, it would just sort of...go. But it hasn't. It's...I have to fight it, every day. And little things, stupid things, they bring it back," he went on in a rush.

"What is it like?" Wendy asked.

"The innocence?" Peter paused. "I can't remember most of it. I know it feels really good, but horrible when you know what it's doing to you. Because you can't get rid of it in a hurry."

"Why would you want to?"

He stared at her. Her large blue eyes were curious, as if she really couldn't come to grips with the fact that innocence, raw and heartless, could ever be a bad thing.

"Didn't you see what just happened?" He demanded. "I nearly cut you open, all because of this _curse_."

"But it isn't a curse, Peter, if you can control it," Wendy insisted. "If you wanted to play pretend, or have a bit of fun some other way..."

"I _can't _control it," Peter protested, looking her right in the eyes and slamming his fist down on the bed in frustration. "I can't, Wendy, I'm trapped." He looked at the ground again, head erect now. He added softly, "Stuck like this."

"Perhaps you just need some practice," Wendy offered kindly after a moment of silence.

"No," Peter replied. "It isn't gonna work. Nothing keeps it back for long. It just...takes over."

"What upsets it?" Wendy wondered. "Little things, you said. Like what?"

"Like the game Hook sprung on me at the lagoon. Weird, funny stuff. Thimbles," Peter muttered without thinking, and then wanted to take it back, his face reddening a little.

Wendy looked uncomfortable too. "Oh...Oh, why didn't you say so? I wouldn't have done it, Peter, if it made things worse."

"No, I..." Peter shook his head, trailing off and then murmuring, "Never mind."

Wendy was quiet for a few more minutes. Then she suddenly asked, "Does the innocence give you nightmares?"

Peter was about to tell her to drop it, but he decided against it. "Yeah," he whispered, nodding and staring into space.

"What did you dream of, Peter? I-If you don't mind my asking."

Peter shook his head slowly. When he stopped, he said, "It was just...it was about my mother."

"You never knew her," Wendy said, confused.

"I know." Peter said earnestly. "And that's the worst part. The innocence gives me this...this awful dream, over and over, and Wendy, the lads say I even believed it once. I believed it happened."

"Believe what happened?"

"The dream. Like...like I'd left her somehow, and in my dream I come back, and she's got the window barred, and I'm..." He realized he was close to crying; just talking about the dream made his innocent heart ache. "I'm banging and calling and she won't answer. She doesn't look at me."

"How dreadful, Peter," Wendy whispered, horrified.

"There's more," Peter added around the lump in his throat, before she could continue her sympathizing. "There was a...another boy. In my place. It's like...she'd forgotten all about me."

"But Peter, it's not true," Wendy told him in a soothing voice. "Your mother died. You were brought up in a workhouse, remember?"

"Yeah. And then Jimmy found me," Peter said, blinking away his tears and scowling. He turned to Wendy quickly, distressed for a moment and furious as he added, "He got me from behind at Bull Island, you know. That's how I ended up on the rock."

Wendy stared at him with wide eyes, sharing his unhappiness but unsure as to why he was mentioning this now.

Peter let out a bitter chortle. "Funny. He always told us attacking an armed man was the worst thing you could ever do in a fight. Said it was dishonorable. Wasn't expecting him to do it. Ever."

"Oh, Peter," Wendy said softly, pitying the parentless boy. "He's tricked you too often. He really is wicked."

"He won't trick me anymore, Wendy," Peter promised. "I'll never fall for his brand of lies ever again. Believe me."

Wendy nodded. "How many times do you have your nightmare, Peter?"

"Almost every night. ...If I sleep at all."

"_If _you sleep?" Wendy cried.

"I don't want it to happen again, so I...just..." Peter trailed off, shrugging a little, and fixed his eyes on the wall, eyebrows sinking.

"But you need your sleep. You must be exhausted every day!"

"I get along well enough. I'm...I'm scared, Wendy. Afraid I'll wake up innocent and it won't ever leave." He shuddered.

"Well, you aren't staying awake all night _this _time," Wendy announced firmly. "Not while I'm here."

Peter looked at her, blinking twice in confusion.

"I'll stay with you till you fall asleep," Wendy offered. "I shall sit right on the end of this cot and not move till you've drifted off!" When he eyed her skeptically, she smiled wryly. "I _am _playing mother around here, aren't I?"

"Yeah, and _I'm _playing father," he reminded her. "And I'll stop snoozing when I like."

"You most certainly will _not_, Peter Pan," declared Wendy in her sternest voice.

Peter laughed his infant's-first laugh, which only made Wendy more pleased to know him, and therefore made her more determined to see to it that her friend wasn't tormented by his dreams tonight.

"I suppose we're gonna have our first fight now," he guessed with a cheeky smirk. "Seeing as nothing's getting me to fall asleep again."

"I won't fight if you won't," Wendy said.

Meaning, of course, if he would just submit, they wouldn't have to argue at all. Women.

"I'm not sleeping, Wendy." Some of his innocence still lingered, and his voice became as stubborn as a young toddler's.

Wendy forced away a smile of amusement. "Oh, yes, you are. Lie down, close your eyes, Peter. At least try, won't you? I'll sing to you if you like."

Peter found a loophole almost immediately. "I've got a better idea." He took his flute from underneath his pillow, holding it in both outstretched palms. "Remember I said I'd teach you how to play this?"

"Now?" Wendy was surprised, but nevertheless pleased.

"Why not?" Peter handed it to her. "You blow, I'll show you where to put your fingers, all right? No, wrong end, Wendy, turn it around. There y'go. Now like this..." He helped her see where her fingers went. "Count one second for each time you put your finger down."

He gave her a pattern, pointing to every hole. She wasn't as fast a learner as her brother, John, and this gave Peter more time to teach her, which he found he enjoyed immensely.

Soon she had played the Lost Boys' full SOS song, with a few pauses and mistakes here and there, but she wouldn't give up, and they spent the next hour sitting on the bed, practicing the tune until she got it right about three rounds.

Peter watched her as she did; her gorgeous blue eyes focused intently on the long wooden instrument in her hands while she played, determined to perfect it. She really was naturally pretty. And her heart of gold added something that completed her beauty entirely, though he couldn't decide just what it was. These thoughts let more of his wretched innocence splash into his consciousness, and he shoved it angrily away. Perhaps it was how Tink had described it. Was something about Wendy triggering the magic, or was it just bad luck it kept springing up? It was a cruel notion to put in the boy's head, when he was having such a pleasant feeling of carelessness, being around her. It was as if all his worries and mature anxiety about the dangers of tomorrow just melted away, leaving only bliss. He didn't want that to go away.

When Wendy had finished playing the SOS for the fourth time, she lowered the flute and grinned at him with a little bounce. "Did I get it, Peter, did I get it?"

Peter nodded slowly, smiling. "Perfect."

"And now," Wendy said, swinging her legs a bit, "shall I try it once more? To put you to sleep?"

Peter was taken aback. Sneaky of her, using his flute against him. Of course, he could just say no. But considering how sweetly she was looking at him, he decided he should try it one more time. He was Peter Pan, after all. He'd battled pirates and survived the slick streets of London. He wouldn't run from a stupid dream.

"Yeah, all right," he muttered, and he lay down while she tucked him in, quite the little mother herself. He could feel himself trying not to smile at the way she took playing pretend so seriously, but it was washed away with the realization that he had never been tucked in before. It was ever so much more comfortable this way.

"You won't have nightmares, Peter," Wendy told him quietly, all sense of maternal make-believe vanishing. "I won't have it. If it happened for Michael, I'll make it happen to you too."

_It doesn't work that way, _Peter wanted to protest. But he was too tired, too busy trying to knock his growing anxiety of the nightmare away, to do so.

She played the SOS song without a single flaw, doing it slowly and with a kind of melody he hadn't remembered hearing in it before. It reminded him of the days when he was slightly younger, working as a well-oiled machine with his crew and loving every second of the teamwork they used as pickpockets.

Before he knew it, he was fast asleep, dreaming of his rooftop laughing bouts with Fox and the days when he and Twins used to steal licorice from underneath Nibs' pillow.

Wendy played on a while longer, until her eyelids grew so heavy she couldn't bear to continue, but she forced herself to do just that, for good measure. No sense in risking that beastly nightmare invading her dear friend's subconscious patterns again.

When she'd finished, she watched him for a moment. Here was the boy Barrie had always told them fables about, always referring to at the dinner table and writing funny little poems about to read to the children, before their morning walk in Kensington Gardens with their neighbor, David. The flying boy with so much magic he sometimes appeared to be actually glowing. With all his baby teeth and his first laugh and his silver-patterned skin and midnight-colored hair and charming street accent and gifted way of telling stories and playing pretend. With his dark eyes, the only thing about him that showed the pain he'd been through to get like this, the mystical way he'd become. A way, as it now turned out, that he hated with a passion. What must it be like, to be Peter Pan? To never grow a second older, to have the whole world at your fingertips and still be the most troubled youth to ever have existed, stuck with privileges and abilities other children could never encounter. And at times he didn't even want them.

She went to her own room, leaving the flute on the end of his bed.

And Peter didn't have another nightmare for the rest of the night.

* * *

**(Author's Note: I know this chapter was lots shorter than the others, guys, but I'm finding less and less motivation to write the fanfic due to lack of readers. The reviews are getting shorter and shorter and less detailed, so I'm not sure if people like it all that much. But I hope you're enjoying it so far! I don't think I've ever worked this hard on a fanfic {you can tell because of the length!} and doggone it, it just so happens not to get much feedback. I _will _finish it! ~Doverstar) **


	14. Chapter 14: How to Lose Your Memory

Tinkerbell was exhausted. Mentally, physically. She was tired. And slowly sinking into depression, to top it off.

Her pride would not allow her to return to Peter, to go simpering back to the charming Betwixt and Between like a rejected pet. He could be unstable with innocence if he liked, following that cheeky girl's every whim, for all she cared. If _he_ didn't care, didn't want her, she could say with cold satisfaction that the feeling was mutual.

She could _say _that. Saying it didn't make it true.

Because the truth was, she adored Peter Pan. He was her closest friend, like family. Dark-skinned, giant, human family. Of course, since the innocence had taken hold of him, he'd been someone she constantly needed to keep an eye on for an entire year. This had become such a habit that now, even when she knew he should be cured and that he had demanded she leave his presence for good, she could barely contain herself from flying back to him and making sure he was all right.

But no. She didn't need him. He had chosen a path of impish danger, and she would let it ruin him.

Without a thought for it.

At all.

Who did she think she was fooling? She hated being sent away from him. She worried. She wondered. She used worst-case scenarios. Her people were a loyal kind, but they were passionate, tree-spirits were, and when they became overcome with emotions (anger, for hypothetical example, which had nothing to do with what she'd done to that Wendy person, mind you), they had no control over it. Much like what the mineral dust did to Peter when he showed even the slightest bit of immaturity.

So she'd opened her big mouth...well, actually, she'd communicated with her thoughts. She'd _metaphorically _opened her big mouth and had gotten herself banished. Lovely.

And now she had almost nowhere to go. Her old kingdom had been burnt to the ground...no wait. In the Neverland plant life grows back quickly, and over the past year her mystical forest home was sure to have been rebuilt by now! Of course, the elders of her colony had banished her as well. Was there no end to male stupidity? She'd broken their covenant by using her strength (in what power Dr. Fludd had given her) against them, trying to save Peter from losing his memories, but it had only given her rebuke from the tree-spirits she'd held in the highest respect for centuries.

As a side note, if you like: whenever a tree begins growing in the tree-spirit part of the Neverland, a handful of tree-spirits are born with it. They are born as they are, as mature as Tinkerbell herself (who had not changed physically since her tree had begun growing eons ago.) You might think that when their trees die, the tree-spirits born from them die as well, but this is a falsehood. They are killed just as easily as you and I, and their trees have nothing to do with it.

An entire forest had, come to find out, grown back since Tinkerbell's kingdom had been reduced to ashes. (She was returning to seek mercy from her punishment, you see, despite her pride.) This meant that a quarter of the multitude of life in her old colony was being reborn; surely the elders had no hard feelings now that everything was growing back?

She was wrong.

When she appealed to the three older tree-spirits that afternoon, fluttering high above the old, silver-shimmering forest of various trees she had once called home, she got the same sort of answer she'd always expected, deep down.

"_You broke a sacred covenant, rescuing the Innocent One,_" the head elder said, which she already knew. "_You can no longer belong to our kind_."

"_I agree that it was a bad decision, saving him, now that I see what a foolish breed human boys are,_" Tinkerbell said, practically through her mental teeth, "_but I beseech to you reconsider, if you please. It wasn't the wrong notion to believe that Peter could still be of use in the quest for the orb_."

"_Whether he was of use to us or not wasn't under consideration when we gave him his punishment_," growled the second elder. "_He cost us the entire colony's life, our home, the well-being of thousands of our people. He deserved what he has become_."

"_He isn't under your spell anymore_," Tinkerbell told them, a little arrogantly. "_His friends helped him break the curse._"

"_His memories have been restored to him_?" cried the third elder in outrage.

"_Yes_," Tinkerbell said, hoping she had given them valuable information, and that they might see it her way at last.

Knowing that Peter was stronger than they'd given him credit for, with companions at his disposal, perhaps they would finally agree that he could help them keep Neverland safe and controlled.

To a certain extent.

"_His punishment was meant to last_," grumbled the head elder. "_It is not enough payment for what he did to our kind; keeping his memories when we've lost as much as we have_."

"_He cannot escape his consequences so easily!_" added the second elder.

"_We must rip his memory from him once again. Stronger, without leaving a trace,_" the head elder announced. "_This innocent-hearted human has trifled with our magic for the last time_."

Tinkerbell saw she had made a terrible mistake. The elders were not thinking of what a gallant champion Peter could be for Neverland. They still sought revenge, every bit the tree-spirit type and self-righteous to the last.

"_No_!" Tinkerbell began, but the third elder cut her off.

"_Your information has been most helpful. If we succeed in the boy's unravelling, you will be welcome among this kingdom again, Tinkerbell. By sunset today, the one called Peter will be stripped of all sense, leaving his innocence as his only guide for a second time._"

"_Stop! Wait!_"

But it was no use. They had flown away, and Tinkerbell was left in a swarm of guilt, hovering frantically over her former home forest.

"_No!_" Tinkerbell cried aloud, although she knew they wouldn't hear her thought pattern now. "_You can't!_"

What had she done?

* * *

"Watch me, Wendy!"

Michael landed with a small splash into the mermaid lagoon, doing a cannonball.

Peter had convinced the creatures that his friends were to be treated the same way the mermaids treated him, and after a short concert on his flute to sweeten the deal, they accepted in their odd language.

The Lost Boys and Darlings were tentative to go swimming with the flesh-eating, half-scaly women, but they soon tried it out and found it was great fun. The mermaids knew how to play, that much was clear. They were gorgeous as well as intelligent. Michael was enjoying it perhaps the most, even surpassing Wendy's delight. This was, after all, his dream come to life.

"Hey!" Curly cried as one of the mermaids snatched his bear-tooth necklace from around his neck and swam backward as he lunged for it.

He was the only one who was still not completely trusting of the sea-dwelling sirens. The stinging claw marks on his arm reminded them how deadly they could be.

But the mermaids were incredibly fond of Peter by this time; if he ordered them politely to leave his crew be, that was what they would do. Besides, the creatures reasoned, the majority of these humans were male (their favorite breed of human, easily influenced, tempted, and very tasty, so of course they were favoring the boys), and if there was one girl and she happened to get her hair pulled, have a handful of shells poured down her bathrobe, or have a few pinches along her legs underwater, who could blame _them_?

The mermaid tossed Curly's necklace to Tootles, who tossed it to Slightly, who threw it to Nibs, who threw it to Michael, who failed to catch it while Curly intercepted it moodily.

"Tell them to keep their claws to themselves, Peter," Curly growled bitterly, reattaching his bear tooth.

Peter grinned. He was sitting cross-legged on one of the rocks, watching the fun and occasionally getting splashed or splashing the others. Every time one of them tried to pull him into the cold water, he just flew out of reach and landed when the moment to do it had passed with a mischievous look.

The sun was setting slowly, almost disappearing now, and the mermaid lagoon was a spectacular view in the evening.

Peter was about to grant Curly's request when he suddenly cried out in agony, falling backward into the water.

"Peter?" Twins gasped, watching as Peter resurfaced.

Peter's teeth were clenched as he let out a low groan through his pearly whites and climbed onto shore, staggering. "Aggh!"

"Peter!" Nibs called, shooting John a baffled, concerned look.

"Is he bluffing?" Michael wondered.

The mermaids, startled to see that their favorite was in pain, swam to the bank where he stood trembling and curling and un-curling his fingers into fists, eyes squeezed shut. The lovely creatures clicked their tongues at him, as if asking aloud what on earth he was playing at and telling him to stop it at once or be splashed mercilessly.

"What is it, Peter?" cried Wendy, hurrying to the shore herself in her soaked blue bathrobe. "_Where _is it, Peter?"

Peter opened his mouth, letting out the sort of choking sound you don't mean to let out after sobbing but do anyway just because you can't control it, except for Peter there was no sobbing. His eyes tightly closed, he curled his lip, showing his gritted teeth in torturous pain.

"Peter, what's the matter?" Curly demanded. "Peter!"

Peter vaguely heard their familiar voices calling out his name over and over in each frantic sentence, but his mind grew distant and thick with pitiless hurt, making him grip handfuls of his own hair on the sides of his head in claws and double over, moaning in an awful, tormented way the other children couldn't bear.

He slowly sank to his knees, shivering with his teeth chattering, and collapsed on his side, curling into the fetal position and rocking slightly. His head pounded, his heart shooting out so much innocence-filled mineral dust into his veins that he nearly had a heart attack right there on the rocks!

"Peter, wake up! Listen! Tell me what's wrong! Peter?" Wendy was distressed beyond belief now, kneeling beside his wretched form with her hands hovering, trying to decide whether to touch him or not, whether that would make the pain more or less.

"C-C-Cold..." he stammered, trembling with his legs pedaling on the ground as if riding bicycle and then twisting fully on his back. Peter then gave a growl of tightness, letting out air through his bared pearls. "Stop, stop," he cried out, but to whom no one could say, clutching his hair again. "Aaagh, make it stop!" He was sobbing now and trying very hard not to, but the pain...

Well...you must imagine yourself in his place for a moment to register a part of what he was feeling.

Think of it this way: Someone has opened your head the way they would open a sugar jar, but turned it so hard that it made a dreadful screeching sound that makes all glass in the room shatter, and then took everything in your head_ out _with a poisoned knife. Slowly, so that it would sting as if a snake had bitten you forty times in a row. They rip everything away one by one so that you can feel it slipping but can't do anything about it, and then pour salt in just to make sure you've got the right amount of illness and misery. Then they start stuffing untame innocence into all those carefully-sorted nooks and crannies made specially for pieces of your memory, and we all know what non-trained innocence will do to a perfectly good brain. On top of this, they added a few doses of pure grief, so horrible that you begin crying uncontrollably and this worsens your headache. Now they mix it all together with a spoon covered in lemon juice and bloodlust, fast and pushing the ladle down as they go. Then they slam the top of your head back on and you open your eyes to see everything in a blur of crazy, still almost ripped in two from the pain.

This was what Peter was going through as he writhed on the ground, put in a gentle, sugar-coated way.

The others were mortified. What was happening to their fearless leader, their dear friend Peter? Why could they do nothing to stop it?

Peter did a lot of screaming in torture for the next two minutes, and then, after much tossing and turning in discomfort and fever, he lay still, as if he were dead, face distorted with agony. Then it relaxed, and he looked like he was only sleeping, if not for his horribly-pale complexion.

"Peter, are you all right?" Wendy sobbed, finally deciding to shake him. "Oh, please wake up!"

The other Lost Boys were all crowded around him, either kneeling beside his body or standing and hitting their fists against their sides in anxiety for him.

Peter's head moved a little then, and he let out a long sigh. His eyelids flickered open for a second, then shut again, bloodshot.

"Peter?" Curly said cautiously.

In a flash, the raven-haired boy's eyes snapped open.

"Boo!"

They all started, and he let out a delicious laugh, jerking into an upright position. "Ha! Did I get you?"

Everyone stared at him, completely surprised.

Peter sat up smartly, ignoring the young lad's babbling. "Oy, who are you and why are you all wet?"

They all looked at each other, quite confused.

"Did you fall and have a nice swim?" Peter went on, springing to his feet. "Clumsy of you! Well?...Anyone have a tongue 'round here?" he glanced around the circle indignantly, miffed that they were all speechless.

"You don't remember us?" John spluttered, completely taken aback.

Peter stared at him for so long with such a careless, blank look that John took a few steps away from him.

"Look!" Tootles cried, pointing.

Everyone, including Peter, followed his finger to see three shimmering tree-spirits shoot into the trees at top speed just as they looked.

"The tree-spirit elders," Curly muttered. "This is bad."

"The ones that took Peter's memories before?" John wondered, still eyeing the raven-haired boy uneasily.

"That was them, all right," Slightly growled. "They've come back to curse us all! They took Peter's mind. We're next!"

"But why?" Wendy said, brushing away her tears. "Peter, do you really remember nothing?"

Peter shrugged. Then he winced and bent over for a split second, and the glaze over his brown eyes disappeared. A moment later it was back again and he was upright, smirking that crazy smirk.

"Are you all right?" Michael asked, noticing the innocence leave him for a small heartbeat.

"Never better!" replied Peter giddily, hands on his hips.

"Yeah. He's gone," Nibs muttered, twirling a finger around the side of his head to indicate insanity.

"So you _can _speak!" Peter shouted, making them all take a step back in alarm. He grinned around the circle, as if he'd really just registered that they were talking to him. "Who are you and what do you want with me?"

Apparently his favorite thing to ask when he lost his marbles.

Curly motioned for Nibs and Slightly to take hold of Peter's arms.

"Hey!" Peter squawked as the boys pulled him to a sitting position and held him there. "Get off me!" He struggled, putting up quite a fight, and Tootles, John, and Twins had to help him.

Curly pulled the flute from Peter's coat pocket and held it in front of him. "We'll fix you up, Peter, don't worry."

"I'll fix _you _if you thickheads don't let go of me on the count of three, d'you hear?"

The Lost Boys gallantly held Peter there while Wendy and Michael looked on, transfixed with awful horror at the distant look in Peter's eyes, as if all complete sense had filtered out of them, the dark intelligence that previously would have been residing in his gaze totally absent.

"One!" Peter snarled, jerking his shoulder out of Nibs' tight grip, but the brown-skinned boy took hold of him again, making Peter give him a glare that would have frozen a lake in the time it took you to tie your shoe.

Curly began playing the boys' SOS song, watching Peter's face.

"Two!" Peter yelled, making the mermaids on the shore dart away at the ferocity in his tone.

"Hold him steady, boys!" Slightly insisted as he was jerked forward by Peter's frantic squirming, holding onto the flying lad's arm.

"Do stop; don't struggle, Peter!" Wendy ordered in a pleading voice. "Just listen!"

Peter's heartless gaze switched to her and he gave her a horrible sneer (no one could sneer quite as bitterly as Peter), but relaxed a moment and watched Curly's fingers and mouth do their magic, although he was not at all good at flute-playing.

When Curly had finished, everyone stared at Peter, waiting for his reaction.

Peter blinked. "Finished?" he snorted. "_Three_, now get _off _me!"

In flash he was free, ripping himself from the Lost Boys' hands and rocketing into the air above them.

"It didn't work," Curly said, dumbfounded.

"Perhaps another try," John suggested. "When he's not so upset?"

"If it didn't work the first time, it isn't gonna work now," Curly snapped, inwardly devastated.

"Come down, Peter!" Wendy called through cupped hands. "We aren't going to hurt you!"

"Hurt me?" cackled Peter. "Yeah, you could try it and see how far you go, eh?"

"We need to talk to you!" Nibs added.

"Whon says I've got time to talk?" Peter said folding his arms. "I have things to do!"

"Like what?" muttered Michael, but Peter heard him.

"Big, important things!" He sneered. "Better than chatting with the likes of _you_ all day!"

"You really don't remember anything, Peter?" Wendy called up.

He drifted down to them, then approached Wendy with a cocky swagger, halting only to snatch his flute from Curly with a contemptuous look.

"Yeah. 'Course."

This lifted their spirits, and Twins said, "How much?" a little too excitedly.

"Ah, this and that," Peter said, flicking a hand. He liked keeping them in suspense, as his memories seemed to be a big deal to them, for whatever reason.

"Do you remember any of us?" Nibs asked, motioning to the crew.

"You? Certainly. Yeah. You're my Lost Boys," Peter said, smirking. "Find those mangos yet, lads?"

Their faces fell, and some of them even appeared highly offended.

You see the flute had really done part of its work; but really it just twisted the fairy magic a bit. The music had reminded him only of his memories from being innocent in the past year, therefore turning his close band of friends into the Lost Boys, bedraggled orphans who called him their leader (rightly so!). He remembered fuzzily going and fetching the Darlings from their home, but for what reason he couldn't recall. Then, looking at Wendy, his mind curled around the one large childish event he could pick up from the previous weeks: she was playing mother. That must be it. He had brought this girl here to be the boys' mother. How clever of him!

He remembered thimbles and kisses as well, eyeing the acorn around her neck, but decided this was unimportant and therefore had no need to be mentioned.

"We're not Lost Boys," Curly snapped. "We're your mates."

"Right, good," Peter agreed with a satisfied nod. "You've got to be." He snorted a short laugh. "How else could you have survived this long?"

"Peter, do you remember me?" Michael asked, tugging at the older boy's sleeve.

Peter raised an eyebrow and stepped backward quickly, away from Michael as if just noticing the 7-year-old.

"Or me?" John added.

When Peter gave them both reproachful looks, shaking his head, they were crestfallen and went silent.

"What about me, Peter?" Wendy said quietly.

Peter glanced at her and raised both his eyebrows now. His lips dragged purposefully into a literally upside-down smile in the universal expression of carelessness. "You're Wendy," he said simply.

"Yes," Wendy said, feeling a bit sorry for her brothers, who looked more than a little upset that he had recalled her and not them. "Anything else?"

"That thing 'round your neck is a kiss," Peter said, pointing one finger sideways, so that you could see the palm part of it, shaking it a little. He pulled his mouth into a line and pinched his eyebrows together this time. "And I've got one in my pocket, as I remember."

He took out her thimble.

"But that isn't a kiss," John spluttered.

"It's an acorn!" Michael added.

"And that's a thimble, Peter," Tootles chimed in, nodding to the thimble in the raven-haired boys hand.

"Oy, aren't you a bunch of know-it-alls?" Peter smirked in a smug way. "You've got it all wrong! _This _is a thimble."

He kissed Wendy as smoothly as if he were handing her something, and when he pulled away he turned triumphantly to his crew. He had, without noticing it, lifted an inch or two off the ground. So had Wendy, her heart doing a lively dance in her chest.

"See?"

How they were all gawking at him! The Lost Boys, not guided by innocence corrupting their minds and causing them not to really know what a kiss was (and having come from different places before James Hook took them in) had all seen a kiss before, once or twice, at least more than their leader ever had. They had never seen Peter do it before, though, yet he acted now like it was something he had chief knowledge on, and Curly wondered whether it was the elders' magical work...or if something else had been happening between Peter and Wendy, during the time the Darlings had spent in Neverland.

John instinctively took Wendy's arm and gently tugged her to his side, a few feet away from Peter, giving the flying boy a threatening once-over.

"What on earth was _that_?" burst out Slightly.

Nibs grunted. "Sly, aren't you!"

"I told you!" Peter said impatiently. "_That _was a thimble."

"No, that was a _kiss_, and a short one too," Twins explained, slowly, as if he were talking to a toddler. In a way, he was. "This is a thimble." He took the thimble from Peter's tightly-closed fist, prying his fingers open. "Here, look. A thimble, Peter, understand?"

"Are we playing keep-away?" Peter said, snatching it back. "All right, but we've gotta use something else. The kiss stays with me." He tucked it in his coat pocket, and Wendy gave him a smile for it, though in his present state he didn't know what for and thought she was merely doing it because he was...well, himself.

"Peter, you're not...you," Curly said, trying to control his frustration. "We've gotta find Tinkerbell. She'll know how to fix this."

"I'm not going anywhere," Peter said. "I'm staying right here, 'case you try to nick me again. You can't trick me; fetch her yourselves!"

"We're not trying to trick you," Wendy insisted. "You're...ill. We only want to help."

"_You_ can stay if you like," he told her. "We can talk to the mermaids!"

"They aren't very friendly, Peter," Wendy replied tartly, trying to respond in a way that would make sense to his childish mind set. "And you need your old self back, you see, and if I stay here..."

"You'll have more fun than hanging about with those snipes," Peter finished for her, giving the Lost Boys a teasing look.

"No, you can stay here," Curly said with reluctance, returning Peter's cheeky expression with a cold one. "Someone has to keep an eye on him."

With that, the entire group left the two of them, moving into the woods.

Peter watched them go with a completely indifferent face, save the snarky boyishness she saw there.

Then he turned on his heel, brushed off the end of his flute, and began to play, pacing the shore with a lively step.

But the mermaids never came. He played on for about twenty minutes, and still none of the lovely creatures appeared.

"Peter," Wendy said a bit uncomfortably. "What else do you remember? Do you...do you even know...where we are?"

"Neverland," Peter said simply, pulling his instrument from his mouth. "You never grow up here."

"Yes," Wendy replied, nodding. "And...you remembered the kisses."

Peter didn't make any sign he'd heard this; he was crouching now with one arm slung over his knee, peering into the water and making funny faces with his eyebrows at his own reflection.

"Peter, they aren't Lost Boys," Wendy said quietly. "Don't you recall? They're your men. Your crew?"

He still didn't respond.

"You were all taken in by Captain Hook," Wendy said.

Peter's head came up. He drew his dagger. "You've seen Hook?" he demanded, approaching her slowly.

Wendy backed up as he came forward. "I-I...yes, Peter, but...but not recently. Do put that away, you might hurt yourself!"

Peter raised one eyebrow high and flipped the knife into the air, letting it turn over three times before he caught it in the other hand on its hilt.

"Never mind," Wendy muttered dejectedly. "But you ought to put it away at any rate," she went on. "Hook is nowhere near us."

"Well, aren't we bossy?" Peter said with a cheeky grin, haughtily pocketing his knife. His _well _sounded even more like a garbled _wuh _now, he was speaking so quickly. "Oy, why d'you wear the kiss 'round your neck, anyway? Hey! Why's it got a little dent in it?"

He plucked the acorn off the chain, rudely intruding on her personal space, and turned his back to her, rubbing it between two fingers.

"It was hit," Wendy said, eyebrows dipping. "By an arrow. You were there."

"Archery practice? Sounds easy enough," Peter babbled, still not facing her.

Wendy wanted to point out that hitting an acorn from nearly a hundred feet below it sounded unspeakably difficult to her, but she decided against it, giving up on arguing with him.

"Tootles shot at me from the ground, Peter," Wendy pressed, trying to make him remember. "Tinkerbell told him to, although I'm quite surprised she could be so heartless."

Peter seemed to be ignoring her now, though by this time he was facing her again and looking down at the acorn in his hand. "D'you want to have a game with me, Wendy?" he offered, glancing up rapidly with his eyebrows raised to show his dark, glittering eyes.

He was looking at her so hopefully. She decided it couldn't hurt. "Yes, I suppose so. Sure. As long as we stay here."

"You've gotta close your eyes," Peter ordered.

Wendy obeyed.

"Take a big breath. Hold it for as long as you can!"

Wendy nodded, inhaling deeply.

Peter took her hands in his. "Right, now don't open 'em."

He began running clockwise, spinning them both in a wide circle. Wendy didn't open her eyes the entire time. Peter was grinning widely, his chortles harmonizing with her giggles.

Suddenly Peter said, "Look!"

Wendy opened her eyes and gasped. They were so high into the air that the mermaid lagoon looked like a chalk drawing in blue. Peter had spun her so quickly; she hadn't even felt her feet leave the ground.

"Peter," she cried, "We're...w-we're terribly high up!"

Peter laughed and looked down. Then he glanced back up at her. "Yeah, I know. Let's go higher!"

"No!" Wendy cried.

"Oh, look, the trees are like little green flowers from here!" When he saw Wendy's pale face, he said, "We aren't gonna fall. It's _me_, remember?"

"I do so wish _you _would remember," Wendy snapped.

Fancy Wendy snapping! But she was quite terrified, you see, and irritated with Peter for duping her into this. Now she would never be able to brave getting back to the rocky ground without his assistance, and dash it all, he wanted to go even _higher_!

"Let's just go to that cloud. See it?"

"No, Peter, get me down," Wendy said, trembling. "I'm frightened. I-I-I told you I'm not good with heights!"

"Tell you what, we'll go down _after_ a race to that cloud and back," Peter proposed. "Deal?"

Wendy wanted so badly to get down now that she said, "Yes, yes, just let's hurry, _please_!"

"On the count of three!"

"Two!"

"Oy, I didn't say _three_yet!"

"Peter!"

"Ah, fine. Two, one, _go_!"

The boy shot higher, laughing, and he went so quickly it ruffled Wendy's brown, thick curls. She didn't dare go even higher. She stayed stiffly where she was.

But the mineral dust had been wearing off for weeks, and she was rapidly losing all happy thoughts.

Without realizing it at first, (and that was the scary part) Wendy began plummeting at awfully-increasing speed.


	15. Chapter 15: Field of Lights

"What do you mean, it can't be fixed?" Slightly cried, outraged.

The Lost Boys were all standing in a huddle in front of the fluttering Tinkerbell, who had actually been the one to find _them _in the forest.

"_The elders made sure not to leave anything left,_" Tinkerbell explained in a broken voice.

"How did they know he got them back from the last time?" Tootles asked.

"_...I...I had a hand in it, I'm afraid,_" Tinkerbell replied quietly.

"You snitched?" Curly exclaimed, outraged.

"_I meant Peter no harm!_" Tinkerbell replied.

"Oh yeah?" Twins scoffed. "You should've seen 'im, Tink, he acted as if he was dying!"

Tinkerbell's sigh echoed through their minds. "_I've been very foolish,_" she admitted. "_Tree-spirits are so small, at points we only have room for one feeling at a time. I think perhaps there is a way to bring them back. But Peter will have much more innocent magic trapped inside him from now on if we succeed,_" she warned.

"We'll do it anyway," John decided, taking charge for once.

"_I admire your courage,_" Tinkerbell told him kindly, "_but doing it will be the easy part. The results are what we have to live with._"

"Just tell us how to help him, Tink," Curly ordered. "We can handle the rest."

So she told them. "_The flute awakened his innocent memories, which means Peter must have **some **way to remember. If we can harness that, we can bring everything back. But to fight to elders' magic, we'll need magic of our own._"

"How do we get it?" Nibs asked, who was very excited to be on good terms with his fairy friend again.

"More tree-spirit stuff?" Michael guessed.

"More mineral dust?" added Slightly.

"_Yes,_" Tinkerbell answered, amused. "_A powerful brand that can counter ordinary tree-spirit mineral dust. My brand._"

"Your brand?" Tootles said, face scrunched with surprise.

Tinkerbell hovered closer. "_The alchemist Dr. Fludd gave me greater power than the rest of my kind. It flows through my veins. You will need to take water from Peter's mineral spring, in your home beneath the earth. A drop of my blood should taint it with the strength to overcome the elders' curse. But we'll need to move quickly._"

Michael, for one, was very indignant that Peter should have to drink Tinkerbell's blood, but she promised him it wasn't the same as drinking other creatures' blood. When she tried to explain on the way to the home under the ground, Michael shooed her away, confused.

As soon as the mixture was ready (they put it in a half of a coconut shell, their favorite way of making a bowl), the boys tried to go as rapidly as they could to the mermaid lagoon.

When they reached it, Peter was standing on the rocks, dagger drawn as he heard them coming.

"You again?" Was Peter's greeting.

"Charming, isn't he," John muttered. He heard Tink's laugh in his mind.

"Here, Peter, drink this," Tootles demanded, holding out the coconut shell.

Peter looked into it and made a face. "I'm not gonna drink that! Look at it; it's glowing!"

Tootles groaned. "Come on, Peter! We don't have time for this."

"Well, _you _can drink it if you're so sure." Peter grinned challengingly.

"It's for _you_!" Tootles argued.

"I'm not drinking it!"

"Don't tell me you want something to go with it," Slightly grumbled. "Crocodile eyes, perhaps?"

"You were cuttin' out crocodile eyes without me?" Peter exclaimed, hurt.

"Just drink the...stuff," Tootles said lamely.

"_It will make you feel good, Peter,_" Tinkerbell added.

"Oh yeah, what's it like?" Peter demanded, jerking his head up once skeptically.

"_Like the sweetest lump of sugar in the bowl,_" Tinkerbell coaxed. "_How they should all be jealous of you for tasting it first, Peter!_"

"Gimme that." Peter snatched the bowl from Tootles with both hands. "How 'bout I drink it first, then if there's some left..." (what he really meant was, _if I don't like it_) "...you lot can have the rest. Deal?"

"Deal." Curly nodded once. "Drink it, Peter. As much as you can."

Peter eyed them all a bit suspiciously. "Oy, look here," he said, "you wouldn't be trying to mischief me, by any chance?"

There was much shaking of the head.

"_Quickly, Peter, before they change their minds and take it for themselves,_" Tinkerbell urged temptingly.

"Right, right. Here goes, down the hatch!" Peter took a long gulp from the coconut shell, and his eyes began watering. When he inhaled and exhaled, he could see his breath billow out in a cloud as if they were in freezing temperatures.

Then the pain came.

Now, when he'd received all his memories the first time they'd been stolen away from him, there had been no pain at all. It all just slowly fit into place, like ingredients for that rare batch of biscuits your mother always sings over, being whipped up in their proper order.

But this time it was awful. If you think Peter had a rough time of it when the elders had ripped his memories away that afternoon, you can be sure this was much, much worse.

You see, all his memories didn't just slide in. They rushed at his mind, engulfing it and fighting each other for their proper places, each one as strong and fresh as they had been when they'd first happened and shimmied into his brain on those particular days.

All the pushing and shoving his memories were doing gave Peter an awful shock through his skull, which lapped at the rest of his body like a round of tidal waves or ripples after a very large rock has been tossed.

Instantly he doubled over, clutching his head and then his stomach, shivering as if it were winter and he'd forgotten his coat.

"What did you..." he began in a horrified, childishly-anxious voice, but then broke off as the memories started hopping into their rightful spots.

The workhouse, meeting Jimmy, growing up a pickpocket, finding the orb, Neverland, the Indians, the pirates, Fox's death (here Peter shed a few tears from the sheer strength of the memory), the tree-spirits, Tinkerbell, flying practice, Bonnie's death, Hook's true colors, his many betrayals, losing and regaining his memories, the fight in the caves, London, hiding the orb, encountering Barrie, going back, spending a year battling the innocence, discovering his shadow, meeting Wendy and her brothers, returning to Neverland, the brawl at Bull Island, playing pretend, the fruit fight, the Day of the Raven, every thimble (here he would lift a few inches off the ground and land again because of the pain), teaching John how to fence, lulling Michael to sleep, his own nightmare, and the earlier events of that day...

Of course, the memories of the past had to squeeze in beside the memories of his innocence today. Unlike the last time, Peter very fuzzily remembered what had happened in the past half-hour.

When he'd finished with the jaw-clenching agony, gritting his teeth and refusing to cry out too much, Peter slowly straightened again.

"_Peter?_" Tinkerbell said cautiously. "_Are you all right now?_"

Peter blinked at her, color coming back to his face. "What're you all staring at?" he scoffed. "Tasted awful. What sort of muck was _that_, eh, Lost Boys?"

Immediately they all sighed and grumbled and slouched.

"I knew this was a bad idea," Slightly muttered.

"Dry up, I'm joking," Peter said, grinning. "Thought I'd lighten the mood."

"You're back!" Michael cried, rushing up and hugging him.

Peter's pearly baby teeth showed as he smiled, clapping Michael on the back as he liked to do in the place of hugging. "What'd I miss, then?"

"_The elders tried to take your memories for good, Peter,_" Tinkerbell explained. "_I told them you'd cheated their last punishment, and they went after you again. I...I'm sorry. I can't help myself when I'm cross. I've made a terrible mess of everything._"

Peter stared at her, listening. When she'd finished, he nodded slightly. "You helped me get them back?"

"We couldn't have done it properly without her," Nibs said, eager to put Tink in a good light.

The dark-skinned Lost Boy quickly recounted Tinkerbell's part in the mixture.

Peter made a face. "Tink?"

"_Yes, Peter?_"

"Your blood tastes like...bathwater." He blinked hard, smacking his lips to add effect in the tease. "And explosives."

There was laughter all around, and after embracing a few of the younger members of his crew, Peter crossed his arms and grinned again.

"You've got a funny way of helping me," he said to them, "but I'm glad you did. What would I do without you, lads?"

"Talk nonsense all day?" Slightly offered.

"Make faces at yourself?" Twins added.

"Act like an idiot?" Curly put in.

"Kiss one's sister without a thought?" John said, lifting his chin.

Peter's face turned a deeper shade of red. "I did all that?"

"And more," Nibs told him. "I don't s'pose you wanna hear it?"

"No, I get the picture, thank you," Peter said with a sheepish look.

"Hey," Michael said suddenly. "Peter, where's Wendy?"

Peter blinked. "I...I dunno."

"Did she go off looking for us?" Tootles asked.

Peter shook his head, indicating he couldn't really remember. "It's all sort of...fuzzy."

They all heard Tinkerbell's huge gasp in their minds. "_Over here!_"

They rushed to the one boulder that stretched over the lagoon. Peter's throat constricted and Michael let out a cry.

Wendy was lying half-in-half-out of the water, her head resting on the sand just to the right of the boulder. The rest of her body was underwater, and her face was white as a sheet. Her eyes were closed; she wasn't moving.

"Wendy!" John gulped, and he and Michael leapt off the boulder to their sister's side.

"_She's not very good at keeping out of trouble,_" Tinkerbell noted tartly.

The others all crowded around Wendy, but Peter stayed frozen on the rock. The second he saw Wendy, the memories of what had happened just moments ago shot through his mind.

He'd forgotten about her! He'd gone too far, flown too high, like an impish idiot, thinking chiefly of himself, and that cursed magic had made him forget completely that she was even with him. She'd fallen, and he hadn't even noticed. What kind of innocence did he have in his heart that would make him forget something so important? He knew more than ever how much he hated this childish gift of his. Innocence? Treasured? Wendy was wrong. It was dangerous. Like a fatal sickness eating away at him. When it took over, things like _this _happened.

"_You'll have to get her back to the home under the ground,_" Tinkerbell was saying. "_I can hear her heart beating. It isn't even half as bad as it looks. She's just a bit too fragile is all._"

Her voice was neutral, as if she didn't really care one way or the other, but inwardly Tinkerbell had decided to be a bit more mature than she'd been in the past. Envy of a human girl was not proper behavior of a tree-spirit her age. She'd acted even more foolish than Peter had, in her opinion, although it practically killed her to admit it, and she was resolved to change her ways, starting now.

"Nibs, Slightly, get one of those palm fronds. We can lay her on that." Curly ordered, and he knelt at Wendy's head, preparing to pick her up with John and Tootles' help.

Tootles glanced at their usual leader. "Help us carry her, Peter," he said, wondering why the boy looked so pale and distant.

Peter's head jerked up when Tootles spoke his name, and his eyebrows pinched. He shook his head. "I did this," he muttered.

"You?" Michael sounded indignant, as if he couldn't believe it.

"I was..." Peter found he couldn't explain it properly. "Stupid," he finished bitterly, settling for the first livid word that came to mind.

"Yeah, well, we've gotta get her outta the water and somewhere safe, Peter," Curly responded unsympathetically. "Or she might not wake up at all."

So Peter clambered off the rock, ankles splashing into the water as he helped the Lost Boys heave Wendy onto the palm frond. And the rest of the way to the home under the ground, all Peter could think of was how much of mess he had made.

* * *

Wendy came to consciousness in the middle of the night, waking up to blink into the darkness. A jolt went through her as she remembered falling, and her heart pounded as if she were falling still. Then she recognized her surroundings (her cave of a room in the home under the ground), and breathed a huge sigh of relief.

Where were the boys? Was everything all right? Had Peter, in his giddy state, flown away without her watchful eye? Were they, including her own brothers, whose bedtime was at 8:00 sharp, out searching for him late into the night?

She found that when she threw off the covers and stood, her legs felt like jelly. Then blood rushed back into them as she tiptoed around for a few moments. Finally she crept out of the room, desperate to talk to someone, anyone, with her head throbbing as if she'd hit it on something frightfully solid.

As soon as she began walking, actually walking with all her weight transferred to her feet, she stumbled, and nearly fell face-first on her way out of the room.

She would have done just that, in fact, if Peter's strong arm had not caught her.

As it turned out, he'd been standing outside the room for a few minutes, insulting himself with all the nasty names he could think up and debating on whether to enter and check on her or not. The last thing he'd been expecting was for his dear friend to come staggering out on her own.

"Careful," he warned, helping her up.

Wendy stared at him, then instantly took a step backward. "Peter, are you...?"

"It's me," he said, looking away.

At once she threw her arms around him, ecstatic he was normal again. "Peter! You're back; I knew you would remember us!"

Peter stiffened and didn't hug her back, still sick with guilt. "Yeah," he grunted, literally turning the word into a soft grunt, and stepped away gently, holding his arms away from her slightly. "You know, um, you should be resting."

"I had to check on you," Wendy explained in a hurry. "To see if you were all right."

Peter didn't want to tell her he'd been hanging around outside her curtain of dead palm fronds, wondering if he should do the same for her.

But, like the mind-readers girls can be, she said, "What on earth are _you _doing awake?" She gasped. "Did you...did you have your nightmare again?"

"Haven't tried sleeping yet," he admitted.

"Peter, you can't stay awake all night."

"I'm not tired anyway," Peter mumbled.

"I'll help you sleep," she offered in a whisper, in case any of his crew were up listening to their conversation. "I'll play your SOS."

She was being too sweet. Too caring. He couldn't take it anymore.

"I'm sorry, Wendy," he blurted out.

She looked confused. "What for?"

"I let you fall," he said quietly. "I wasn't watching."

Wendy was incredibly uncomfortable now. True, falling had been thoroughly terrifying, and in the split second before she'd hit the water (the mineral dust Peter had supplied her with at the beginning of the adventure was still strong enough to slow her fall considerably) she _had_ been horrified that Peter wasn't helping her. But the look on his face made her forget her fear and unhappiness and want to try and cheer him up.

"You weren't yourself," she told him. "You couldn't help it."

Peter shook his head, turning away. "Yeah, but don't you see? It's dangerous. I can't take it anymore. I need to find a cure."

"A cure for what?" Wendy said, baffled.

"Innocence."

Wendy watched the back of his head, waiting for him to go on patiently.

"Curly. Aaya. You." Peter said softly. "This innocent heart thing will get you all killed, and I'll be the center of it."

"It isn't your fault," Wendy told him firmly.

Peter turned around. "How can you say that?" he said in a breath, his eyebrows dipping downward.

"Oh, for goodness' sake! Yes, Peter, you _have _an innocent heart. Far more innocent than any of ours. But those beastly tree-spirit people, they just...just..._increase _it. _They're _the reason it goes too far. Certainly not you!"

Peter blinked.

"Does any of that make any sense?" Wendy asked a bit sheepishly.

Peter nodded very slowly, looking just past her shoulder in a daze of thought.

"Good." Wendy let out a long breath, satisfied she was on her way to convincing him he shouldn't feel this badly. "Now suppose we do something about your sleeping habits..."

"I won't get to sleep now if I know you're up too," Peter accused teasingly. "I told you, I'm not tired."

"Nor am I."

"Stop bluffing."

"Bluffing? You're one to talk, Peter Pan, your very _eyes _just _scream_ for sleep!"

Peter chuckled. "Well, if you're not tired and I'm not tired, we ought to do something to make the time pass."

Wendy blinked. "Like what?"

Peter thought about it for a moment, then his dark eyes stopped screaming for sleep and started dancing with excitement. "Come with me."

* * *

"Now, what I'm about to show you is a secret," Peter whispered as he and Wendy sat in the branches of a leafless tree.

The nights in Neverland turned out to be incredibly cold, even if Peter had his coat on and Wendy had tied the sash around her blue bathrobe tight over her white nightgown, even adorning her blue slippers she'd come to the mysterious land in.

"See where the trees part, just over there?" Peter pointed.

Wendy nodded, trying very hard not to look down.

"That's where we're headed. Tink told me at night, there's a few choice places, one for each island, where the woods just sort of...come alive. Something different everywhere. I like the show on our island the best, though."

Taking her head to help her find comfort in being up so high, Peter and Wendy floated with a cool breeze carrying them, down to a clearing.

The clearing was absolutely still. It was covered in the greenest grass Wendy had ever been in, long blades that came up to her hips, feathery and wispy. In the moonlight the grass looked grayish-blue, and Wendy felt that same cool breeze tickle her curled brown hair.

The sky was clear above them, and Peter sat down, crossing his legs. Wendy sat beside him, following his lead, and the two of them just waited.

A few minutes passed.

Nothing happened.

Just when Wendy felt like nodding off, Peter shifted and whispered, "Look!"

She would have missed it if not for Peter's pointing. It was a gorgeously silver shooting star, so large she exclaimed, "Ooh, it looks as if we could touch it!"

Peter looked at her for a moment before saying quietly, "We can."

Her hair swished when she glanced at him rapidly, eyes wide.

Another shooting star rocketed across the sky.

"They're that close," Peter explained hurriedly, as if her excitement were contagious. "We could join them up there." He then remembered his guilt from before and his eyes darted away. "If you're up for it."

"Of course!" Wendy cried, hopping to her feet.

"Come on, then," Peter said, standing as well. "Here."

He pulled the phial holding last of his pocketed mineral dust. Because the magic was still somewhat in Wendy's blood for whatever short time she had left with it (it was, you remember, wearing off), she, like Peter, was in no danger of exploding into ashes without the fairy song.

Wendy stood still as he poured it over her like a salt shaker. Immediately she was engulfed in sugary happiness, and her feet left the ground. She gasped.

Peter rose up with her. "You ought to be used to heights by now," he teased.

"I'm not afraid," she told him stubbornly, lifting her chin.

"Ah, good." The corner of his mouth was tugging into a smirk. "Keep telling yourself that, b'cause we're going higher."

Wendy braced herself, recalling her fall earlier in the day and becoming unsure that she could do it at all. This made her land again, doubtful.

Peter stayed afloat, but held out a hand. "I'm not gonna let you drop, Wendy. I'll make it up to you. I'll prove it." His voice was thick with determination. It was as if he were reading _her _mind this time.

Wendy bit her lip and nodded, taking his hand, if only to show him she forgave him.

"Will the stars burn us up, Peter?" Wendy asked; she was very good in school but had never really asked whether touching a shooting star was a bad idea or not.

"No, but they do sort of tickle," Peter said, grinning at her.

When they reached the open sky, another shooting star flashed past them. Then another. And another.

Wendy caught her breath. Thousands of them, millions of them, darting and winking around her. One of them grazed her arm, and its light was so brilliant she shut her eyes. Sure enough, a tingling, ticklish sensation ran along her shoulder at its touch. It was warm. Not uncomfortably hot, mind you, but pleasantly toasty, like your mother has laid another blanket over your usual comforter to keep you cozy while you sleep, shooing the cold away.

Peter twisted, turning around to avoid one of them colliding with him dead-on. Wendy ducked slightly to let the star pass over her head.

"This is amazing!" she cried. "I've never seen anything so beautiful!"

Peter nodded. "I know," he called over the sound of the glass-like whirring as the stars shot past. "It's one of the better things about this place."

He grabbed her hand and jerked her out of the way as a particularly big star headed straight for her at top speed. Had he not pulled her aside at the moment he did, she would have been halfway across the field by now, or worse, falling toward the ground uncontrollably.

Before Wendy had time to thank the eternal 13-year-old for his help, Peter took her other hand as well and shot only a foot higher into the air to let another star pass under them.

He let go of one hand then, pulling away but still holding her left hand so that they were both facing the same direction, just missing a star that would have crashed into them both.

"It's like a dance," Wendy laughed. "A game of a dance!"

Peter glanced at her, dodging another star as he did so. "What?"

"Like a game, Peter, like the kind when you make believe the pillows in your pillow fight are made of fire, and you can't let one of them touch you," Wendy said, pausing to will herself to fly to the right so that she could let a smaller shooting star spin past her, "or, you know, you're _out_of the game."

Peter had no idea what she meant; he and the Lost Boys hadn't really attempted many pillow fights back in London, and they hadn't had the pleasure of having one here in Neverland yet. Their grass pillows would probably burst at the first swing.

"But it's better this way," Wendy continued, still trying to explain what she meant while keeping out of the stars' way, "because it's like a dance."

"A dance?" Peter said, skeptical now and getting a little frustrated with the persistent, coconut-sized balls of brightness.

Wendy nodded, giggling when a passing star whispered in her ear as it went.

"This isn't a dance, it's..." Peter grabbed her hands again and spun them both in a wide circle to let a star fall in between their outstretched arms, pulling her near with their fingers entwined when another threatened to flash onto her head, "...madness."

This word came out as a breath, because they were suddenly so close that he was getting that funny feeling again, the feeling that said he _wanted _to let that wretched innocence in.

Recognizing that pushing feeling, or thinking he had when really it wasn't that at all, Peter became frightened it would overcome him again and let go of her hands, backpedaling a bit in the air.

Wendy twirled a bit, quite used to maneuvering in the air but still uncomfortable with the height. "Look! Trying not to upset the stars; isn't it exactly as if we were in a ballroom, Peter?"

Peter didn't answer, suddenly content to watch her as the millions of shooting stars lit her face with golden light, and she smiled a smile that was ever so much prettier than the show around them.

"I think they _want _us to dance!" Wendy laughed, stepping in a square pattern to avoid the luminous spheres.

Peter caught his breath when a star nudged him sideways with surprising strength; he hadn't been paying attention to them. He turned his gaze to the brown-haired, robed girl whose company he enjoyed so much. He laughed very softly, showing all his baby teeth in a large smile of his own, continuing to watch her move her arms and feet in a dancing pattern while flying, and as she dodged the lights he reflected that she was really very graceful.

And then she suddenly halted, her face falling.

"Don't stop now," Peter joked. "Think I saw one of the stars try to join in." He saw her smile disappeared and said a bit more seriously, "What's wrong?"

"Mother taught me that dance," she said sadly. "You know, Peter, I can...I can hardly remember what she looked like." She sounded confused.

Peter blinked at her. "What d'you mean?"

"It's..." Wendy dodged a star and looked at him, lowering slowly. "It's like I only ever dreamed her up. Like..." and here she sounded terribly frightened, "...like she's make believe too."

Peter didn't know how to respond to this. He knew this was Neverland's charm on its weaker visitors, making you forget things and people. Already his mental image of Fox was, however seared in his brain he claimed it had been, dwindling. He had to keep reawakening the pain of his friend's death in order to hold on to the picture.

He hadn't met Wendy's parents and had decided to put them out of his mind. He'd been secretly dreading a time when one of the Darling children would mention their old life (though he was unsure how long it had been since he'd first led them here, so he couldn't actually call it an old life when it may not be very old at all). It seemed like only a few weeks had passed. And now Wendy, the one he dreaded hearing it from most, really, when he thought about it, was doing just that.

Panicked unexpectedly, Peter's innocence pushed through only a little, and it made his head hurt. "Maybe she was," he joked, trying to lighten the mood.

But the stricken look Wendy gave him made him want to take it back.

"I wonder," she said huskily, "if she's forgotten us as well."

"Probably," Peter muttered under his breath. He couldn't shake off the memory of his nightmare, and it clouded his logic, making him bitter.

"What?" Wendy looked at him, startled, ducking as a star shot just above her head.

"I mean um, she...she wouldn't," Peter stammered. "You haven't been gone long anyway."

"Do you..." Wendy dodged another star and tried again, "Do you really think so, Peter?"

Peter nodded and shifted to the right to let a medium-sized shooting star whiz by. "You've been in Neverland, what, a week?" This was most definitely a lie somehow, he knew, but as he really had no idea how long the Darlings had been here, he shrugged the guilt off. "She can't have forgotten you."

Wendy stared at him disbelievingly, her face telling him she was still distressed.

"You're not easy to forget," Peter added to cheer her up, and at this she looked at him with such fondness that the shiver of the tree-spirit mineral dust in his veins jolted right up and down his spine, feeding on his innocent heart all the more.

Wendy opened her mouth to reply, smiling again, but something below them caught her eye and she gasped. "Fireflies!"

"What?" Peter glanced downward.

The field was absolutely _stuffed_ with the glowing golden creatures, merging in color with the white shooting stars in the sky above.

"Come on!" Wendy landed on her own accord, too filled with wonder and glee to be afraid anymore, and Peter darted down beside her.

A firefly flitted right in front of Wendy's nose, making her rear a little and giggle, then flew away again. Wendy rushed forward a bit, cupping her hands.

Peter was watching her, chortling. "What are you doing?"

"Help me get one, Peter!" Wendy told him with a hearty laugh. The breeze ruffled her hair, demanding that the grass do a jig that resembled waves in the sea.

Peter was surrounded by the glittering bugs, and he realized they were different from normal fireflies. They had multicolored wings if you looked hard enough, even if their glow was a deep yellow; wings that moved so quickly they were faster than a hummingbird's. When they came near, Peter was reminded of good things, good memories that passed before his eyes, as if all the merry things in his life were reflected in the light coming off of the insects.

Wendy came up to him, holding out her hands, where two of the fireflies were scuttling about contentedly. "They're rather difficult to catch."

Peter reached out and cupped his hands, then turned to Wendy with four of them captured. "Really?"

"Oh, please, dear Peter; that was just luck," Wendy scoffed.

"You think so? I could catch twice that many if you like," Peter countered.

"I've got more experience, I'll wager," Wendy said with a twinkle in her eye. "I could catch plenty more than you could."

"Oh, and all this time I thought girls hated bugs," Peter teased.

"I'm not like other girls," Wendy said haughtily, lifting her chin playfully.

Peter could agree wholeheartedly with that, but he still wouldn't be beaten.

"Let's make a deal, then, if you're so smart. I catch more than you do, you've got to tidy up my room every afternoon while the rest of the crew goes exploring."

Wendy looked unhappy with this penalty, but then her face lit up. "All right, but Peter, what about when I win?"

"What d'you mean _when_?" Peter smirked.

Wendy couldn't fight her grin. "If I catch the most fireflies, you've got to go back up to the stars and we'll have a dance."

Peter's turn to be uncomfortable with the arrangements came, and he made a face, head recoiling. "Hang on..."

"Oh, don't be frightened, Peter, it's only dancing," Wendy said, folding her arms and looking at him challengingly.

"Frightened? Me? You're joking."

Wendy smiled at him pertly.

Peter forced his own confident smirk. "All right, you've got a deal." He held out his hand, and she shook it.

"Very well, then," Wendy said. "Have at it!"

"Have at it."

And they both took off.

It was quite a contest, because both had the power of flight in order to catch the fireflies that went too far up. Peter was a bit faster in the air, so his feet left the field more than the fair Wendy's did. Then again, Wendy _did _have more experience in this game. She used to catch fireflies on summer evenings in Kensington Gardens, just before Lock-Out Time, with her friends and family. And with so many in this enchanted field, it was really rather easy as she kept running right into large groups of the lightning bugs.

Peter began having such fun with the romp that he preferred to stay in the air, doing little flips and laughing as his number of fireflies grew and grew. The mineral dust flowed into his brain, engulfing him in innocence, but keeping him quite sane even then. He let it come, enjoying the contest too much to really notice.

Of course, the children had to let the poor creatures go after a few moments. After all, without something in which to carry them aside from their hands (which weren't really efficient enough), it was rather hard to hold them all. So they kept count, shouting out the number they were on as they grabbed the insects gently, trusting each other not to snatch the same bug many times over.

Finally, when Wendy was too tired to continue, they stopped.

Peter landed in front of her. "Sixty-eight," he said, not even panting. He was grinning from ear to ear, though.

"Seventy," Wendy said promptly, smiling back.

Peter's grin disappeared. "How's that possible?"

Wendy laughed. "I've won, Peter!"

"Yeah." Peter dipped his head in a gentleman's manner. "Right, good for you. Congratulations."

"Don't forget your part in the deal," Wendy said quickly, and all hope that she had forgotten vanished without a trace of sympathy for him. "You've got to dance with me."

"Up there?" Peter glanced up at the sky. "It's almost dawn. Look, the stars are coming faster. They do that before the sun comes up." (Really, now he was just scraping the bottom of the barrel.)

Indeed, the shooting stars came more and more, so quickly that they would have been hard to see if there had not been so many. It was quite as if they were all attempting to flash by before they had to wink out for the next day of sunshine.

"No matter," Wendy said optimistically. "We shall be finished before the first light!"

And they rose into the sky with the stars zipping by all around them.

"Wendy," Peter said reluctantly, "I...I'm not..."

Wendy watched him, waiting for an answer. "What is it, Peter?"

"I don't..." Peter flew closer so that their foreheads almost touched, his pride wary of someone nearby hearing him. "I don't know how to dance."

This only made Wendy happier, for now she had the chance to instruct _him_, for a change. "I'll teach you, Peter," she said with a teasing, sweet look. "I'll teach you to use the breeze and keep time, and away we go!"

"Very funny," Peter scoffed, but he was smiling.

And so Wendy did teach him. Her raven-haired friend had a natural flair for it, whether he liked it or not, because as he soon discovered, dancing was just as complicated as flying, and flying was his specialty. They danced the waltz at first, and they found it so enjoyably easy that this was all they did.

The two of them did it slowly, then a bit more quickly, and then a little bit of both. They continued dancing until the sky was pink with the first rays of dawn.

They were completely blissful, unaware they were being watched.

Captain Hook, Starkey, and Smee were all hidden in the forest on the edge of the clearing. They had been trying to discover where the Lost Boys' secret camp was located, and upon spotting Peter and Wendy in the air on their way to the field, the pirates had followed, hoping they would lead them to the rumored home under the ground.

But what Hook was seeing was much, much more valuable information. A bonus, practically.

"Huh. Looks like he found 'imself a mother, Cap'n," Smee snickered, who wasn't very bright and had remembered Wendy's declaration at the battle on Bull Island.

"No. Not a mother," Hook sneered at the thought. "Not a mother, Smee."

Smee narrowed his eyes. Starkey crouched lower, smirking. The fashionable villain knew exactly what the Captain meant.

"She's far more to Peter than that," Hook went on in a low, dangerous tone.

"Eh?" Smee cocked his head at the two flying teenagers on the horizon.

Hook glanced at him with a knowing curl of his lip. "Can't you see it, gentlemen? The boy's in love."

The two men exchanged glances; only Starkey had ever really been in love (or thought he had at one point) and neither of them thought it a very satisfying sensation.

Hook was contemplating this with a feeling of total relish. The wicked gears in his head began turning, his iron claw flashing with hunger for revenge. He knew what had to be done. Look at the lad, absolutely daft with lovesickness! This was certainly a pathetic change from the clever, quick-witted boy Hook had raised as a thief. It showed weakness. It showed vulnerability.

The raven-haired whelp was completely entranced, whether he thought he was or not. Hook had never wondered if Peter, the child he'd raised for three years in London, acting as his father, would ever fall for a pretty face such as that sickeningly-sweet little creature up there. No, he had never once expected Pan's boy to dive without hesitation, unknowingly, into the world of lightheaded romance. Peter was too sharp for that, he'd told himself. Too focused on the bigger picture, like he himself had once been. Adventure, good form, important things like that.

But it seemed as if Peter had forgotten all this. Funny! the mad pirate chuckled inwardly to himself. The boy was stuck in his sappy emotions, like Hook himself had been twice in his life. Oh, it was enjoyable. Perhaps the greatest feelings in the world, to love and be loved by someone. To care and to know someone cared for you.

Unfortunately all that had been ripped from him. And both times it had to do with that cheeky little brat, flying high with happiness alongside his beloved.

Snarling with nasty anticipation as a scheme began forming in his diseased, evil brain, Hook turned to his men. "I believe we've found what we were looking for."


	16. Chapter 16: Empty Nursery Rhymes

"...And they all lived happily ever after."

The hut filled with Kaw children burst into cheers as Wendy finished her bedtime story for them, Aaya translating kindly.

The crew had gone to the Kaw Tribe to help tear down the Day of the Raven decorations. The Indians liked to keep them up for a full week, but you see, the week had passed and the decorations were looking quite homely, and very worn out. So the Lost Boys, Darling children, and Peter all came to take them down, Peter insisting it was only fair because they had helped put them up in the first place. Now, upon popular demand, Wendy was having a nighttime story marathon for the kids in the Tribe.

Peter was in the hut, leaning on one of the posts with his arms crossed, listening with a smile on his face, showing his pearls sometimes in silent laughter. The other Lost Boys were all sitting on the floor, keeping watch on the children lest they get out of hand while the stories were being told.

Wendy sat on a log in the hut before the children, just finishing a daring adaptation of Jack and the Beanstalk. There was no acting out this time, for she wanted the young ones to use their imaginations, which seemed to work out fine.

Now the story had ended, and the children all began begging and begging for more.

Wendy needed no translation from Tiger Lily to see what they wanted. "Oh, but we must get you all to bed..." she tutted, trying not to smile.

More protestations.

Peter chortled, then, determined Wendy should have fair play, put his fingers to his mouth and whistled shrilly.

The hut went quiet immediately and the youngsters all looked, as usual, with awe at the silver-tinted lad.

"Little less noise there, you lot," he commanded with a mischievous face. "Let her get a word in, eh?"

Wendy nodded thanks to Peter and said, "Of course I could tell you just one more story, if you all promise to listen well and without interruption."

They solemnly promised in their garbled Native American language, little faces lit up with the prospect of hearing another tale.

"Listen, then," Wendy said, settling herself comfortably.

The Lost Boys, the children, and Peter all obeyed, watching her intently. Aaya continued to translate, smiling with amusement.

"There was once a gentleman," Wendy began, "and also a lady, for she was his wife, and ever so much the prettiest lady you've ever laid eyes on."

Peter bit back a grin when he saw the children squirm with delight as she began her trade.

"The gentleman's name," Wendy said, "was Mr. Darling, and her name was Mrs. Darling."

Peter's smile wavered. His eyebrows pinched a little.

"I knew them," John said promptly, relishing the look of annoyance on the others' faces as he interrupted.

"I think I knew them," said Michael a bit doubtfully, and Wendy glanced at him, alarmed.

Hurriedly, Wendy pressed on. "They were married, you know. And what do you think they had?"

A few hands shot up, and Aaya told Wendy what it was the children answered as she nodded to them.

"White rats?"

"Heavens, no!"

"Crocodiles."

"Certainly not."

"A warm fire?"

"Sometimes," Wendy laughed, and Tiger Lily repeated it in Kaw language. "But actually, they had three descendants."

Little Creek asked a question then in her rapid-fire way, impolitely neglecting to raise her hand.

"She asks what a descendant is," Aaya said, chuckling a little.

"Well," Wendy said slowly, "you are all descendants." Then she continued her story. "Now, these children had a faithful Uncle called Uncle Barrie, but Mr. Darling became upset with him and told his daughter, Wendy Darling," and here all the children recognized her name, pointing at her and giggling, "that she was to grow up and leave her nursery!"

Peter's smile had vanished now, and he felt a pang in his chest, almost as if he were being stabbed, but it felt ever so much worse than that. It was dread.

"You're an awfully good story-teller, Wendy," Tootles said kindly.

"Thank you, Tootles." Wendy replied, grinning at him. "As I was saying, the three descendants flew away to the Neverland, where the Indians and the pirates are."

Peter's spirits lifted only a little then, for he thought she was telling the story of how they came to this world. He was mistaken, as he feared.

"Now, I want you to consider the feelings of the unhappy parents with all their children flown away," Wendy said, staring into space for a moment as if she, too, were doing just that.

The children all put on despairing faces, trying to please her.

"Think of the empty beds," Wendy went on softly. "How horrible they must have felt. How they must miss their little ones."

Peter straightened up now, dropping his arms from their crossed position. He jittered in place a bit, the dread curling up his spine when he realized what Wendy must be thinking.

One little boy spouted off a dismaying sentence, and Tiger Lily translated, "He wants to know if this story will have a happy ending."

Wendy leaned forward, smiling now a bit wistfully. "If you knew," she said quietly, "how great a mother's love can be, you would know that answer straightaway."

Peter tensed. Wendy glanced at him, noticing his uncomfortable expression but overlooking it unconsciously, one glance, and meeting her blue eyes for that one second, Peter's innocence returned to him, gripping the dread filling his head and increasing it, matching it with his nightmare. And then suddenly he was back in his dream, looking in on his mother and the infant lad who had replaced him.

"You see," Wendy continued with a longing in her voice that ate at Peter's soul, "our heroine knew that their mother would always leave the window open for them to fly back to, so they stayed in the Neverland for quite a while and had a lovely time!"

The children were enthralled with her stories as always, but Peter's feet fidgeted a bit, quite as if they wanted to make him up and leave. Every word Wendy uttered in that last part pounded his skull and met the memory of his mother-nightmare with mocking laughter.

"And one day, you see, the children _did _return," Wendy said, a faraway look in her eyes. "'Look, dear brothers,' says Wendy, 'there's the window, still open for us.' They were rewarded, you know, for their sublime faith in their mother's love. For a mother will always need her children, however far they have gone, however long they have been away, however much they are delayed, she will always be thinking of them, waiting, wishing for their presence. A real mother always, always wants you."

Peter gritted his teeth. The other Lost Boys seemed unperturbed by this opinion, but his fingers curled into fists; a moment later he was out of the hut, standing with his back to it in the cold night air, just outside the entrance, pacing uncomfortably with his head filled by his nightmare.

A few minutes later, Peter heard cheering and applause come from inside, and he knew the story had been finished. No doubt they all lived 'happily ever after'.

Wendy, still inside, curtsied to the children and their parents, who looked on from the corners of the tent, nodding to compliments with a smile. Finally, she noticed Peter was absent; he was the first person she searched for as usual when she had a moment to think.

Slipping out of the hut, she stopped almost immediately as she exited; Peter stood in her way, so close their noses nearly touched, but his expression told her he wasn't feeling pleasantly awkward about that this time.

Nevertheless he didn't back away, but glared down at her (he was, after all, a full inch taller than she) and had his hands loosely on his hips.

"Oh...Peter. Are you..." began Wendy uncomfortably; there wasn't even a trace of a smile on his face, and he cut her off before she could finish.

"Do you really believe all that?" Peter said around the lump in his throat.

"Believe what?" Wendy replied, completely confused.

"That they'll always be wanting you. That the window will be open." His voice was thick and dangerously low.

Wendy raised her eyes to look into his. "Yes," she said with quiet certainty. "Of course."

"You're wrong," he hissed.

Wendy stared at him, taking one step backward. "What?" she whispered, surprised.

"You heard me," Peter snapped, his British accent heavier with each syllable. "You're wrong about mothers, and so's everyone who believes that stupid story."

Wendy was so horrified by what her treasured companion was saying; she even had to resist the urge to cover her ears with her hands. "But it's true," she insisted.

"Oh really? It's true?" Peter said, his voice rising a bit, lifting his arms a tad and letting them fall down against his sides angrily, glancing around just once before meeting her gaze again, eyebrows sunk low over dark, smoldering eyes. "Why didn't she want me, then?"

"Who, Peter?"

"My mother." Peter whispered the word as if saying it too loudly would sting his tongue.

"She...she died." Wendy stammered, baffled by his sudden rage. "Don't you remember?"

"But before she died she left me," Peter's sayings came in a rush; he was trying not to let tears flow, but it was growing harder with every word. "I grew up in a workhouse till I was ten, and then I got stuck with Hook. Where was she?"

"She died giving birth to you," Wendy murmured. "You said so."

"Wrong," Peter snapped again. "_Jimmy _said so. Probably another lie he duped me into believing. If she wasn't alive, how come I keep having these dreams?"

"That's all they _are_, Peter, don't you see? Just dreams! It didn't really happen!"

"My parents weren't thinking of me," Peter growled in a whisper of his own, inhaling each time he began a sentence. "My mother wasn't looking for me. She _didn't _want me. My crew, my mates, _none _of us had parents who wanted us." He paused a moment to let that sink in, glaring hard at Wendy. "And you really think the window will always be open for _you_?"

Wendy nodded, mouth closed, staring at him in dismay.

Peter scoffed very softly, his head bobbing ever so slightly, almost unnoticably. "You can't be serious."

By now the Lost Boys, including John and Michael, had joined them outside, and were watching the fight with stricken looks.

"It _will _be open, Peter," Wendy said firmly.

"How d'you know?"

They were both shouting now.

"Because mother will always want us!"

"You're so sure of that, are you? Why is she any different from the rest?" Peter argued.

"Peter!"

"No, I wanna know!" Peter snarled. "What makes you so sure she won't forget you too?"

Wendy felt as if she'd been stabbed, as if Peter had an iron hook of his own and was using it against her. He knew very well how frightened she'd been recently that her mother would lose memory of her children.

She would show him. Mrs. Darling would never close that window, never.

"How can you ask such a question? She loves us! _You're _wrong about mothers, Peter!"

"Prove it!" Peter hissed, leaning in angrily.

"I will! I shall go back this very night!" Wendy said in a burst of rage, stamping her foot.

Peter's ready retort died on his lips; he wet them and his face drained of color very slowly in the moonlight, shifting his weight from one foot to the other where he stood. The Indians passing by cast them nervous glances, but he didn't care. All he could see was the cold determination in Wendy's eyes, the truth in her statement; now a clear decision.

Wendy? Leave Neverland?

_She can't, _Peter thought numbly. _She can't; I wouldn't know what to do without her. _That last bit was a little subconscious...even for his subconscious.

Then anger pulsed through him, and his innocence grabbed for that.

"You wanna go back?" he burst out. "Back to your father that wants you to grow up and your dull little home life?"

"_Yes_!" Wendy said back, though tears threatened to sting her eyes. "Because as far as I'm concerned, sir, it's far better than wasting my time w-with a...a horrid bunch of urchins led by an hateful little imp like _you_, Peter Pan!"

"Wendy," Michael mumbled out in protest, shocked, but John silenced him with an elbow to the ribs.

"You think going home and going to school is a better life than staying in Neverland with me and the Lost Boys, is that it?" Peter said, completely oblivious now to the boys watching them and his slip of the tongue, calling them the Lost Boys.

But Curly noticed. Peter really wasn't cured, not even from the start.

"Absolutely!" Wendy had replied.

"Your parents want you to grow up, become an adult, learn solemn stuff," Peter said, gritting his teeth. "You know what adults do, don't you? Haven't you seen enough of it in Hook?"

"We don't all have trouble trusting others! Wendy said through her own pearls. "We can't all look on grown ups with such petty, childish _innocence_!"

Peter stiffened at that and again he was at a loss for a cutting response.

Wendy took this opportunity to look him straight in the eyes, her own watering, and say with admirable iciness in her voice, "Now, we are going home. And the window will always, _always _be open."

She walked past him, toward the crew. He didn't move.

Then his anger lit again.

Peter turned to lock eyes with her over his shoulder, but she had her back to him as she went. "I hope you enjoy it, then. Because it's more than any of us got."

With that, he joined the Lost Boys. When Wendy approached her brothers and drew them away to the other side of the clearing to have a discussion, Peter didn't look at her.

"Are you all right, Peter?" Twins asked quietly.

Peter forced himself not to glance at Wendy over his shoulder. "M'fine," he said, sniffing. He swiped his sleeve across his nose, innocence throbbing dully through him as thick despair. "She wants to go chasing empty nursery rhymes, she can be my guest. Her mother's not gonna have that window open when she gets back."

* * *

Now, Peter meant no serious harm. He was sure Mr. and Mrs. Darling would stop thinking of their children over the years if they were gone long enough. He was sure they would forget. After all, he knew five young lads who each had careless parentage. That was enough to show him that all adults, however sweet and caring and fond of you they seemed, could very easily put you out of their minds and even repulse the thought of you at any given time.

Adults like Jimmy. Like Hook.

And so Peter traveled that very night, on impulse, to the second star to the right, passing through as easily as if it really were a door made of wood, into London. The star was still at its height of power, thankfully, it would be another few months yet until it dimmed again and he'd wait another year to return. He found the Darling/Barrie home as smoothly as you please; he'd been there often enough.

There was the window. Open. The very same window he'd led them out of. So Wendy had been right. Their mother hadn't forgotten.

Yet.

When he looked in, Tinkerbell at his side as usual (he had quite forgiven her for her attempt on Wendy's life by now), he saw Mrs. Darling in the chair near the open window, asleep with tears on her cheeks.

She was gorgeous, and he saw Wendy very clearly in her. Peter watched her for a moment, marveling at the resemblance. But it only reminded him that, without this solo mission, Wendy would soon look exactly this way: a woman, a hated grown up, all sense of fun and adventure ripped out of her mind and replaced with the cold indifference of an adult.

And she would forget _him_, too.

After all, Peter was only a boy. A boy who would never grow any older with her. And that was a decision he would stick to.

But why should she have to turn into a full woman, picked clean of any wonder? He could save her. He would show her _he _was right. The window closed, just like in his dreadful nightmare, wouldn't that teach her? Teach her it was childhood that was superior. Not dreary, wicked adulthood.

Because that was all grown ups were, really, wasn't it? Just like Hook. And he vowed on Bull Island, in the collapsing caves, _never _to grow up. To be a man. To be like Jimmy.

These thoughts were what encouraged Peter to push the window closed. He did it softly, so that the thump would not wake Mrs. Darling. And she didn't wake. She sat in her chair, tears drying on her face, in a slumber with no rest, a mind tainted with grief.

Peter blinked.

"_This is wrong, you know,_" Tinkerbell said to him, flying close. "_Look how she longs for her children, even in her sleep. You can't surely be trying to take them from her? You're better than that, Peter._"

"Maybe I'm not as good as you think," Peter whispered, still staring in at Mrs. Darling.

He saw Wendy's smile in her distressed, subconscious frown. A smile he wouldn't see again if he opened that window.

"Look, I know adults, Tink. I know what they're capable of. I've been left, tossed out, just like Curly and Tootles and the rest; I'm sure of it! Who's to say Wendy's mother won't hurt her too someday?"

"_You think you're protecting her, Peter, but it's more trouble than you've ever been in, tampering with a mother's love._"

"How would you know what that's like?" Peter scoffed. "You were born from a tree!"

"_I've seen the Neverbird keep her eggs safe at all costs; and I know you've seen how the Indian mothers treat their little ones._"

"That's different."

"_It isn't, Peter, you know it isn't_."

Peter ignored that and muttered, "And what d'you mean, I _think _I'm protecting her?"

"_It's more than that. You ought to admit it by now. That Wendy girl means something to you. She's been on your mind since you met._ _Her mother loves her even more, Peter. Ever so much more than you believe she's capable of._"

Peter turned again to the window and saw Wendy's mother's fingers twitch in her sleep, as if trying to touch something she'd never reach. "Yeah, well," he said quietly, "we can't both have her."

And with that, they flew back to the second star.

* * *

When Peter returned to Neverland that night, he went straight to the home under the ground, thinking that the lads would be waiting to have him escort the Darling children back. He slipped down his tree slide and landed without a sound, brushing himself off.

His eyes came up and saw a sword inches from his nose.

Curly held it, his eyebrows low over milky-blue eyes with a snarl. "Where were you, Peter?"

Peter stared at him, completely taken aback. "I was..."

He glanced around. The place was trashed. The mushrooms chopped from their stems, the food scattered; there was even a bit of blood in the dirt...

"What happened?" Peter said, suddenly cold all over.

"What happened?" Curly repeated with a snarl, lowering the sword. "The _pirates _happened! They took the crew, the Darlings, Aaya..." his voice caught here. "We put up a fight, but we were outnumbered. Surprised. They knocked me out, left me behind to tell you all about it." His eyes bore into Peter's. "We might've won with your help, but you weren't here, were you? Where did you go?"

Peter knelt on one knee, crouching to survey the spot of blood. He picked up an empty coconut shell, the one Twins always used. "How did they get in?" he said softly, his head spinning.

"They used Slightly's tree," Curly said curtly. "Tied 'em up and dragged 'em off. What was I supposed to do?"

Peter stood, turning to him. "It's not your fault, Curls."

"No," Curly agreed, sword still in hand, but he'd let it drop to his side. "It's yours. Where were you?"

Peter lowered his gaze. "Making sure the window was shut." He said it so softly he half hoped Curly hadn't heard.

But of course he had.

Curly blinked a few times, breathing heavily now and trying not to break down in the gravity of their situation. "You went back?" he murmured.

Peter didn't answer, watching him.

Curly raised his voice. "You went _back_? After all we talked about, after I warned you the pirates were hunting us? You were trying to keep her here, weren't you? All this for that girl!"

Peter met his eyes, indignant, shame making him angry with himself and the world. "That girl?" he echoed. "Wendy's our friend; I'd do the same if any of you tried to wreck your lives that way!"

"She's more than a friend by _you_," Curly sneered.

"And what about you?" Peter hissed, his throat raspy suddenly. "D'you think I haven't seen the way you look at Aaya? After all she and I went through?"

"Maybe if you gave her the time of day..." Curly said, his face as red as his nose.

"Don't you think I have enough to worry about?" Peter snapped. "With this innocence thing eating me up all the time, trying to keep myself normal for you snipes every day?"

"It isn't the innocence that got us into this mess, it's _her_," Curly snarled back. "Wendy. And you! You left to trick her into staying and now Aaya's gone and so's the lads! Tell me how it isn't your fault, go on, use that silver tongue of yours!"

Peter couldn't. He glared at Curly, breathing like a madman, but only half because the curly-headed lad had insulted him so. The other half was furious with himself for letting this happen to the only family he had.

But foolish Curly. He had to get one more jibe in; he'd been holding the comment inside his mind for weeks, trying not to let it out. Now seemed the perfect time to make Peter see his blunder.

"She's turned your head, Peter."

That was what he said, very clearly, without hesitation, so there can be no excuse later in life for it.

Peter was instantly reminded of being in this exact position. In Curly's, that is. He'd been standing in Dr. Fludd's foliage kingdom, keeping James Hook back with his dagger drawn, desperately trying to show his father-figure what Captain Bonnie had turned him into.

_"She's turned your head, Jimmy."_

And so, Peter did precisely what he'd promised himself never to do: do exactly as Hook had done, in a fit of anger with himself, with Curly, with the way life had turned out all in one night.

He whipped his knife from his pocket, flipping it into the air and catching it expertly, going for Curly with furious determination, that cursed innocence pounding painfully through his skull.

Curly had been taught how to fight as well, and he quickly but in surprise retaliated with his sword, thrusting Peter's attacks back, parrying naturally. But he was soon pressed against the dirt wall, sword on the ground, with Peter's dagger pointed at his face. None of the Lost Boys could best their leader in a duel.

Both boys panting heavily, Peter realized what he was doing and dropped his dagger with a shaking hand.

"You're right," he said, softly.

Curly lifted his rage-lit eyes to stare at Peter openly, not certain he'd heard his friend properly. "...What?"

"You're right. It's my fault." Peter turned away, leaving his knife in the dirt. "I'm sorry, Curly. I didn't mean for this to happen."

"So what do we do?" Curly said cautiously, standing upright and picking up his sword, ready in case Peter decided he wanted another go. "Wait until tomorrow to go after them?"

Peter turned slowly after a moment of thought, hands on his hips. He rose into the air gently. "No. No more waiting."

"But what about a strategy?" Curly protested, almost smiling. _There _was the old Peter. Ready for action, cunning and quick. "To think out a plan, Peter?"

Peter's cocky smile returned. "What fun'd that be?"

* * *

**(Guys, I need feedback, lots of it! We're coming to a close and I need to see how I'm doing so far. Also, be on the lookout for a special author's note at the end of the fanfic, because it'll tell you about the next part in my Neverland fanfics...~Doverstar)**


	17. Chapter 17: War of the Jolly Roger

The _Jolly Roger _was a frightfully amazing ship, John concluded. It was spectacular. Huge, with so many old designs in various places that he wanted more time to look at them all. After all, it wasn't often he got to be put on a real pirate ship.

Of course, being tied up and dragged relentlessly aboard, placed in the center of the deck and being surrounded by a crew of grown men with murder on their minds put a damper on his excitement.

The Lost Boys themselves didn't seem to share his awe. John reminded himself they'd been here before. They looked pale, aside from the oldest, Nibs, who looked furious when James Hook came on the scene.

Hook surveyed the boys with indifference, but Tootles noticed a hint of something in his eyes that was different from the Jimmy he'd grown up with. Something that was not quite sane.

"Welcome to the ship," he said in his quiet, dangerous voice.

"What are you gonna do with us?" Tootles asked.

"Eat us?" Slightly added, giving Smee a glare. Smee had been the pirate that had tried to 'fatten them up' to eat them on their last visit to the _Jolly Roger_.

Smee sneered back at him, then put on a nasty smile.

"No, I've got something better planned," Hook said, his mouth curling upward a bit in fiendish amusement. "Untie the girls."

John fumbled for Wendy's hand, and she clung to his tightly. His sister wasn't trembling in fear, to her credit, but he saw panic in her blue gaze when she looked at him frantically.

The men untied Aaya and Wendy, and the girls scrambled to their feet, their wrists still bound but their ankles undone.

"Escaping isn't the best plan," Hook warned them. "You won't make it halfway to the water before the crocodiles get you, so I suggest you stay put."

"What do you want with us?" Aaya demanded, lifting her chin.

"Well, if it helps, we want you alive," Starkey offered with a sneer, but Smee elbowed him. Starkey glanced at his captain. "Don't we?"

"I have a sort of dignity I'm sticking to, if you will," Hook began softly, "and it doesn't involve harm to innocent girls. ...Yet."

"Yet?" Wendy said, locking eyes with him and almost gagging. So the tales were true. He was wicked to the core; she could see it in his flaming irises.

"Yes, well, it depends on whether our last guest shows up or not," Hook smirked.

The pirates cackled.

"Peter," Wendy said in a whisper.

"We're the bait," Aaya told her. "He wants to get to Peter."

Hook raised his eyebrows, and his face took on that of a snarling bear.

"He does, does he? You think you can defeat him so easily?" Wendy turned to Hook with a brave look of contempt that made him want to retch. "Peter is ten times the swordsman you are!"

The Lost Boys cheered their consent and Aaya shot Wendy an admiring glance.

Hook pulled out his sword calmly and the ship was quiet again. "I taught him everything he knows," he said slowly, quietly. "There isn't a move he's got that I don't expect from him."

Wendy could have slapped someone for the man's bold look of smugness, but the other bit of it was that he was terrifyingly confident. She almost shuddered at the heartlessness in his words.

"You don't need them for the bait," Aaya insisted, glancing at the Lost Boys.

"Yes, let the boys go," Wendy pleaded.

John and the older of the lads were all starting to protest, thinking it was ridiculous that the girls should have to beg for their freedom.

"Yeah, that's right," Tootles said with considerable braveness of his own, "untie us so we can send you to the crocs!"

The boys cheered again, and again Hook raised his hook for silence.

"The boys are bait enough," Hook countered. "But that isn't why they're here."

All eyes were on the captain while he relished the suspense, waiting for him to go on.

"It isn't just your self-righteous leader I want to see floating in Neverland's seas, it's _all _of you," Hook hissed between his teeth. "I want to see your blood stain the water, I want to have him _hear_ your shouts of agony before I kill him slowly, in the most painful way you could imagine."

Wendy blinked several times to push tears back at the very thought, and she and Aaya stood between the pirate crew and the group of orphans.

"You'll have to wait," said Wendy through her own teeth, "an awfully long time, then. Because you aren't getting them while Peter is alive."

"Or us," Aaya added, glaring at the pirates as if one look could make them explode into ashes themselves, just like their previous captain.

Wendy nodded once, giving the blaggards a frightfully sweet smirk, like that you would see on a particularly pretty spider before it bit you with ferocious satisfaction.

"Aye, Peter will gut you open," Slightly snarled with surprising rage.

If Hook had supposed his former adoptees would be terrified, he would have been surprised by the thick layer of hate on each and every face of the children staring back at him now. Afraid? They had no fear of death. It was quite as if they wanted to see him just as lifeless as he wanted to see them, all hope he would still be Jimmy somewhere underneath banished. He was no longer their guardian, and they were glad of it.

"Do you think two nursemaids such as these will keep me from running you all through, one by one? All they've got are their pretty faces!" Hook said, trying to conceal his growing frustration with the lads. They were not as easy to frighten as he desired.

"At least they've got both their hands," Nibs jeered.

The boys cackled in unison, knowing exactly how to push the pirate's buttons, if you will.

Michael was watching the quarrel with keen interest, although he, being the youngest, was the most nervous out of all of them.

Then, out of the corner of his eye, he saw...blonde hair. There, just near the railing! Curly's face appeared and he put a finger to his lips when he saw Michael staring at him. The pirates hadn't seen him yet.

While the boys and Wendy continued to banter with Hook, who was fine with doing so and killing time waiting for Peter to show up, all the while keeping an eye on the skies, Michael kicked Aaya's ankle.

Tiger Lily glanced back at him, and Michael ever so slightly jerked his head toward the railing. When Aaya spotted Curly, she had to restrain herself from smiling. Curly caught her eye and nodded once, quickly, before sliding Slightly's pen-knife (left behind in the home under the ground) across the deck silently to Twins.

Twins began discreetly trying to saw the ropes tying his ankles together, clasping the knife in both bound hands, but Curly suddenly shook his head rapidly, ducking slightly. He made a motion with his hands in front of his mouth, and Twins understood immediately, even if Michael and Aaya were baffled.

Then the blonde-headed boy disappeared again.

"However hard you try to defend him, your brave leader will have his weaknesses I can exploit," Hook was saying snarkily to the others. "Weaknesses that will bring him down."

"Peter hasn't any weaknesses," Michael piped up indignantly.

Hook narrowed his eyes. "Oh, everyone has at least one weakness," he said lowly. "Believe me. And before the night has ended, your precious hero will know his."

"You don't scare us, Jimmy," Nibs insisted. "Let us go!"

"Scaring you isn't important to me," Hook told him. "But in case you should feel a bit edgy, there is always a better way out."

"Falling into a crocodile's mouth?" Slightly guessed in a mutter, sneering at the captain.

The corner of Hook's mouth twitched in a sort of nastily amused smirk. "There's that, aye," he grunted, "but then, of course, there is the idea of reconciliation."

"Reconciliation?" Nibs scoffed.

"Yes. You could join me, lads," Hook offered. "Join me, and help me rule the Neverland. Teacher and pupils, just the way it used to be. In time you'll be part of my crew. How does that sound?"

Nibs narrowed his eyes. Aaya glared at the captain out of the top of her eyes. Tootles' eyebrows sunk so low over his brown irises you almost couldn't see them. Twins scowled into Hook's face, and Slightly curled his lip. John's nostrils flared. Michael squinted hard, frowning deeply at the others as if he couldn't already tell what their answer was, willing them to refuse.

"We'd rather be eaten," Wendy responded for them between clenched teeth.

"You think you can talk us into becoming murderers just like you?" Tootles said, eyes misty with hatred and hurt at the man who had raised them. "You never really cared about us."

"Peter told us everything," Nibs added.

The captain regarded them all with a cold stare, and if he was surprised, he didn't show it.

"It's a no, in case you hadn't realized, _Hook_," Slightly spat.

Michael, Twins, John, Wendy, and Aaya all shouted their agreement, staring the pirate crew full in the face with defiance.

"Peter will come, and he'll cut you down like the barbarian such as you ought to be!" Wendy went on.

The pirates all snickered and made mock admiring exclamations at her articulate speech, the way of speaking that came with a story-teller.

"Whatever weakness you think he has," Aaya said in a threateningly quiet tone, "you won't be able to get to him through it, because he _does not_have any."

Hook was quiet for a moment, glaring back at them all; Smee, Starkey, and the others were watching him with interest. Then the captain snapped the fingers on his remaining hand.

Immediately two of the men seized Wendy.

"Care to test that theory?" Hook asked Aaya with dreadful calmness.

"Let go of her, you bounders!" John cried.

"Get away from my sister!" Michael added, squirming.

Wendy kicked and jerked, trying to free herself from Bill Jukes' tight grip, attempting once, even, to sink her teeth into Starkey's wrist, a nasty trick Aaya had once told her about a few blissful nights ago at the Indian camp. How long ago that seemed now!

By this time all the lads were struggling to get out of their bonds, shouting for the men to unhand Wendy. Aaya tried to rush at the men holding her friend and knock them down with the full force of her body, her hands still tied together like Wendy's, but she was knocked onto her back relentlessly by Smee, who kicked her legs out from under her. The Indian princess fell unconscious as her head slammed onto the wooden deck.

Wendy was forced out onto the plank. Her Cinderella story came back to her, and she held her head high as Smee pointed his sword at her back.

But Hook's eyes were on the stars as Wendy advanced toward the edge, forced out by the bearded man's blade.

"Keep watch," the captain muttered to Starkey.

Wendy took a deep breath when she neared the end of the plank. The crocodiles swarmed beneath her in the water, their mouths gaping and ready for a meal.

She glanced back at her brothers. John and Michael met her eyes, tears already forming there. Oh, why had they ever agreed to come to this wretched land?

"This," Wendy called to them softly around the lump in her throat, "will make an awfully good story to tell."

Michael's tears fell then, and John could only stare at his sister in horror.

"Don't do it, Wendy!" Twins shouted.

"Don't move!" added Tootles. "Peter _will _come!"

"Aye, not another step!" Slightly put in.

"Hold steady," Nibs called.

But Wendy had quite made up her mind to go over the edge. If she was meant to be the bait for Peter's demise, would it not be smarter to finish herself off before she could be used to trap him? Aaya was already unconscious, so she could not be next, and Peter could free the boys easily by the time he appeared. If she was out of the way, they were all better off. It was what a selfless hero would do, wasn't it?

And so she took the final step, eyes closed.

Hook's mouth finally twisted into a mocking smile.

Michael let out a pained cry and John screamed, "No, Wendy!" but it was too late. The boys all fell silent, the eldest glaring daggers at Hook and the other villains, the youngest beginning to quietly sob.

Wendy fell down, down, down...

Her eyes squeezed shut, she heard the snap of the crocodiles' jaws in anticipation, she felt the wind of the speed in her drop whistle past her ears, she held completely still as she descended, keeping her mouth closed so as not to give the pirates above the satisfaction of hearing her wail.

With a gentle jerk she stopped falling, and the wind through her hair went a different direction.

Wendy opened her eyes, surprised to feel strong arms slowing her fall and setting her down on a dinghy attached to the _Jolly Roger _with superb silence.

Peter floated just in front of her, feet barely above the water. His raven hair was messy with how the breeze of the sea had buffeted it, his clothes damp from the salt water spray, and that cocky smile on his face with barely suppressed relief. Wendy thought th British lad had never looked more gallant.

Wendy opened her mouth to thank him, moved to hug him in gratitude, absolutely thrilled he'd come to save her after all the awful things they'd said to each other, but he put a finger to his lips.

"Told you I'd catch you," he whispered in her ear, and then flew discreetly around to the other side of the ship.

On deck, the pirates were in a frenzy.

"Cap'n," said Smee, "I didn't hear no splash. Did you?"

Hook raised an eyebrow, still smirking. "No. Not a sound."

John exchanged a confused glance with Michael, and the other boys began doing the same. No splash?

"Perhaps the beasts swallowed her whole?" suggested Starkey.

Hook shook his head.

Suddenly a shrill, pretty tune played softly from somewhere in the air. Hook's eyes shot to the sky, but still no sign of his enemy came.

"The SOS," Slightly whispered very quietly to Tootles, whose eyes lit with excitement.

Immediately Twins began cutting his bonds, and when they were undone he secretly passed it to Michael, who took a little more time doing his. John was free next, and then Tootles, Slightly, and finally Nibs. But the lads stayed seated in their same position, pretending with every fiber in their being that they were still crushed by Wendy's 'death' and still held captive.

Another whistle came. The Lost Boys recognized it.

"Now," Tootles whispered, and they all leaped to their feet.

The pirates drew their swords, surrounding the boys.

"I gave you your chance," Hook told them from behind the circular wall of men, high near the wheel with a triumphant fire in his eyes. Then he glanced up at the skies. "Come down to earth, boy! Watch your friends perish."

Slightly, John, and Nibs positioned themselves in front of Twins, Tootles, and Michael, covering the three youngest in a tight circle formation of their own, standing over Aaya's limp form in a faint effort to protect her as well.

A deafening crow came from the air above. The Lost Boys, uncertainly hopeful, met the pirates' bewildered gazes with smirks.

And suddenly it was raining mangos.

No, really, the deck was being splattered with the orange, sloppy fruit. They came down with such speed and aim that they almost never missed their marks, save for the one that hit Slightly on the shoulder, making him stagger a bit.

The pirate crew was bombarded with tangerine ammo, startling them and putting them off for the moment.

Hook looked around for its source. An old fishing net stolen from the sides of the boat was being opened from the lookout's nest, and the mangos were poured out, seemingly endless. He saw Curly looking down in triumph back at him, then backing up so that he could no longer be seen.

Mangoes. What childish rubbish.

But it appeared effective nevertheless. The men of the _Jolly Roger _were completely caught off guard, and soon they were scrambling about the ship, trying to get away from the hard-recieved fruit. You'd be surprised how painful a well-ejected mango can be to the head.

It was John who saw Wendy first. She was alive and well, standing in the doorway of the weapons' keep, beckoning to them to hurry toward her while the villains were distracted.

The Lost Boys bolted for the weaponry, and a moment later they were out and armed. To their relief, the pirates were not ready for battle at the moment (some of them still had mango juice in their eyes), and so when the lads went for them with their blades and all the skills Peter and James Hook had taught them, they instantly had the upper hand.

Even Michael, who was fighting side-by-side with Twins. The two young friends were like elfin demons, cackling with the thrill of adrenaline as they thrust their swords at the grown men.

Wendy herself wasn't doing too badly either, fighting with the moves Peter had instructed her on against Bill Jukes. He had been especially rough with her when putting her out on the plank, and had even soiled her bathrobe, his ash-covered handprints still on the arms of her garments.

You didn't dirty Wendy Darling's favorite bathrobe and go about your business unpunished.

She was currently fighting near Aaya; the Kaw girl was stirring and Wendy did not want the pirates to take advantage of her friend while she was dizzy, and try something like throwing her off the side to the scaly reptiles below. She knew what that felt like.

But when fighting a grown man with bloodlust in his eyes, Wendy couldn't stay in the same area for very long. She soon drifted away from Aaya's form, hacking away at Bill Jukes' blade with her own. He proved to be less skilled in battle than even she, a barely-educated teenage girl, was.

Smee leaned over the Indian Princess, about to grab hold of her and wait for the captain's signal to shove her onto the plank. Aaya was still trying to stand, her hands bound with ropes as they had been at the start of the children's kidnapping. Without the use of her hands, attempting to stand was very difficult indeed.

Aaya gritted her teeth and glared up at the First Mate, trying to scoot backward.

Smee reached for her shoulder and was suddenly knocked to the side, kicked out of the way very forcibly.

Curly offered Tiger Lily a hand, a sword in his right. "Hullo, Princess," he nodded to her with a grin.

"Curly!" Aaya was genuinely relieved but hadn't been frightened in the first place, glad to see him.

She let him help her up and he cut her hands free. After rubbing her wrists, she stepped close and he thought she might actually hug him, right there in the middle of battle!

But instead she held out a hand. "May I borrow that?" She gestured to his sword.

"Oh. Yeah." Curly handed it to her with a satisfied look, pulling out a knife from his vine belt. "You take the one on the right, I'll..."

She threw her arms around him and murmured, "Thank you for coming for us," and Curly felt warm all over.

Then she pulled away and the two of them fought a pair of pirates back-to-back, Curly ducking and jumping expertly while Aaya used a bit more savage methods with her blade. She wasn't as used to the weapon as he was; she may have accidentally cut off a few enemy fingers, but her opponent probably had a few left, and so shouldn't complain.

John was fighting Starkey for the second time. "I'll teach you—" he said, teeth bared as he swung his sword, "—to try and throw my sister overboard!"

Starkey dodged the sword and parried. "Oh, you've improved since the last time our blades met, have you?"

John twisted and gave him a nice cut to the shoulder, ripping his blue torso. "I was taught by the best!" he growled.

"I didn't realize our captain was giving away battle lessons," Starkey sneered, wincing as he flexed his shoulder.

"Not _that_ bloody scoundrel!" John gave a chortle as he deflected a blow. "Your leader couldn't slice a dandelion in half! I was taught—" he brought his heel down hard on Starkey's foot, and the man yelped, "—by Peter Pan!"

In a flash John knocked the sword from his enemy's hand and Starkey was at his mercy, backed up against the railing.

"Beg for your life, you heartless fiend," John hissed, dark hair tussled. He looked quite mad, and quite heroic at the same time. This was the stuff of all his favorite nursery stories; he was loving every second, letting his rage at how this man had treated Wendy take over.

Starkey's palms went up; he surrendered.

Hook was watching all of this, knowing that none of the children would confront him. The captain stood with one hand on the ship's wheel, a knowing smirk still planted firmly on his mouth. He didn't admire his former students' talent for dueling; rather, he looked on it with contempt, of the mind that none of them, not even his star pupil on whom he was waiting to battle, could ever live up to his example in the art of fencing.

"Saying your prayers, Jimmy?"

The familiar voice behind him had to be raised in order to be heard over the tumult of the fight, but it still held a mocking ring to it when it spoke his former nickname, _Jimmy_. Hook turned very slowly, the smirk still there, to face the black-haired boy, who held his dagger up in a challenge.

"Lost your wings, have you?" Hook asked quietly.

"Pick up your sword," Peter ordered, gritting his teeth only a little in barely concealed rage at the very sight of the monster before him. "I'm not gonna fight you unarmed."

"Such honor," Hook tutted, his hand going to his sword hilt. "Interesting; I don't remember teaching you my code."

"What code? D'you mean the one you broke?" Peter's snarl would have shamed every crocodile in the Neverland.

"Come now, boy, you don't really think I'd have hurt the lads without offering them a way out beforehand, do you?"

"I heard what you said," Peter hissed, pointing with the dagger at every syllable. "You want us dead, all of us, every last one."

"Perhaps not," Hook insisted. "It all depends on what you're willing to do. We can still be partners, you know, Peter. Equals, chieftains of this land, with your powers and my skill."

But Peter was shaking his head long before Hook had even finished his sentence. "Not more of your lies. You ought to know by now you can't trick me. I'm gonna make sure you don't leave this ship alive, not after what you've done."

Then Hook yanked out his sword and they went at it.

Every time Hook tried out a barbaric new move, a killing strike he'd never taught Peter, the boy seemed to sense the black rage that filled the man's heart and he'd rocket into the air with ease, out of the pirate's reach. A moment later he'd land and their blades would meet again.

The Lost Boys noticed Peter's arrival and were delighted, but could not stop fighting long enough to assist him. Besides, Peter wanted to help from his friends. His innocence rushed him, raw and heartless as ever, and the wild glee that engulfed him in a fight in the back of his mind completely took over. It was very like the glee that came when you want to win a game or a competition so badly, you will enjoy the feeling so much you'll absent-mindedly do anything in your power to achieve succession. But despite this feeling and the bloodlust in Peter's brain, he would not try to trip Hook up or, worse, attack him from behind. Pan was no cheater at any game, and this included the game of Life or Death.

"It's you or me this time, Hook!" Peter shouted as he backed the captain up against the railing.

Hook narrowed his eyes, still fighting brilliantly. He noticed the change in Peter's eyes, so wild and dark and full of gay innocence that his hand actually began to shake, but he steadied himself.

Peter let out a magnificent crow, relishing his innocence for once because he realized Hook was fearing its unknown and powerful hold on him, and advanced, jabbing and parrying wonderfully.

"What's come over you, Peter?" snarled Hook. "A bit of pixie magic playing with your mind?"

"Have at it, Hook, keep your sword up," Peter said with a terrible grin, showing all his baby teeth and speaking between them as they clenched, that same dreadful merriment that came to him whenever he truly hated someone, and took pleasure in getting them right to the edge of death.

A dying cry from one of Hook's men sounded behind them at Curly's blade.

Hook glared up at the mystic child before him; his eyes glittered with madness. The _Jolly Roger _was in chaos, crocodiles writhing in the waters below, mangos scattering the deck, young children fighting hundred-year-old pirates, who happened to be _losing_!

"So, then, Cock-a-Doodle," he said softly, with a nasty sneer, "this is all your doing?" His jeering name-calling was both immature and filled with spite, not having the desired effect; the innocent-churning Peter only took it with pride. How he despised the boy he had once cared so much for as a fatherly figure. Looking at him now, such a smug, self-righteous look in those brown irises! Hook could have slain him then and there and laughed for days over it.

"Yeah, now you're getting it, _Jimmy_," Pan replied, the grin never wavering as he spat out the nickname like it was foul-tasting: an old term of misplaced endearment for the man he had once trusted so well, only to blossom into the most intense disgust he had ever felt for another human being.

And at that moment the flying boy, forever young, and the pirate captain, forever poisoned with malice, had never hated anyone as much as they hated each other.

"You're an arrogant _child_," Hook hissed as their weapons clashed again, pushing against one another.

"And you're a murderer," Peter hissed back.

"You think your youth makes you fearless; you think being a boy forever makes you invincible," Hook growled through clenched teeth. "But I know otherwise!"

Peter didn't respond, choosing not to care about the captain's words, dodging a swing from the pirate's hook.

"You have a weakness," said Hook, slipping away from the railing and turning around again.

Peter whirled, bringing his dagger down. Hook deflected it just barely. "Keep telling yourself that," Peter snarled, "while I cut you to pieces!" He spat out the word _cut _with measurable emphasis.

Hook took hold of Peter's knife with his iron claw, pushing it back with his sword in a mighty shove. The dagger twirled through the air, but Peter caught it with time to spare.

"Did you really think I wouldn't figure it out?" Hook sneered. "You're in over your head, Peter, and I mean to show you just how much!"

Peter took to the air as Hook tried to gut him then and there, another move he'd never been shown in the early days.

"Go on and show me, then," Peter said with that terrible grin, still in the haze of battle, pointing his dagger at the man from his flying position. "Prove it."

This was exactly what Hook wanted to hear.

He took to the main deck in two bounds, and seized Wendy with his hook to her throat. Her sword fell to the wooden floor; her breath caught in a choke. Hook gripped her and drew her toward the main mast.

He watched with growing pleasure as Peter's face drained of all color and his wild grin disappeared. The boy's knuckles turned white as he tightened their hold on his dagger's hilt.

"Let go of her, Hook," Peter ordered, his eyes practically flashing red as rage engulfed him. "You...you so much as squeeze her tighter and I'll..."

"You'll what?" Hook spat.

All battle on the ship ceased. The Lost Boys still held their weapons, but all eyes were riveted on the scene near the main mast.

"Any one of you move, and she'll die," Hook said, and then turned to smirk at Peter in a sickeningly horrid way, "sooner than I planned."

Wendy's eyes met Peter's in a panic, midnight blue clashing with rich brown. She was afraid now. Real fear of death in the girl's mesmerizing irises, fear that she would get Peter killed as well. Peter's eyebrows came down and he tore his gaze away, back to his enemy's.

"Your weakness," Hook told him with deep satisfaction, enjoying the very taste of his words, "lies in this girl."

Peter shook his head, mouth moving into a line and taking a breath, trying to protest so that Hook could not hurt Wendy to get to him.

But the pirate only leered at him. "You think I don't know _love _when I see it, Peter? You're not the wily thiefI crafted you to be anymore; you're _far _worse off now. _Now_, you've got someone you can't do without. _Now_, there is someone here you care so much about you'll do anything to keep her safe, won't you?"

Peter's teeth gritted together. "Let. Her. _Go_."

"Oh, no," Hook chuckled. "No, you really aren't seeing it, are you, boy? You haven't understood yet. Your precious girlfriend, your _Wendy_? I'm going to _kill_ her right before your very eyes; I'm going to do it so slowly you'll _never _get her screams from your tainted mind."

Peter felt hot tears come to his eyes; he shook his head and the innocence still very faintly trying to stay in his brain made him want to cover his ears as if he could already hear the screams now.

"Don't do it, Hook," he said in a choke. More nightmares, he couldn't bear more nightmares. He wouldn't watch Wendy die. There had to be a way out. First Fox, now her. _Not Wendy. Not Wendy._

But Hook only laughed a bitter, heartless cackle. "You think you can stop me just by telling me not to? You're even deeper in it than I thought! You know this feeling now, don't you? Love. Amazing, isn't it, Peter? And though you haven't felt it yet, you will: you'll feel the ache of loving someone so fiercely that when they're taken from you it's as if you've just been killed yourself. And it will be _all your fault_."

"No, stop it!" Peter cried, finally covering his ears, tears dripping out of his eyes, just missing his cheeks as he bent his head in the air.

"You'll feel what _I _felt," Hook shouted, quite in an insane manner, in case Peter couldn't hear him now. "Your mother was ripped from me, she _left _me for that cocky _idiot_ Pan, a man _exactly _to your likeness, and when I met Captain Bonny, I thought I'd _finally _found someone to replace her! But you destroyed _her _as well! You and your mineral dust and your clever tricks!"

Peter had looked up, pulling his hands from his ears (it wasn't doing any good anyway). "I-I didn't..."

"_Two _women stolen from my life! _Two _loves I gave up, all to do with you! And now you'll feel the agony I felt before I rip you to ribbons. You'll watch _your _love die."

"Please, Jimmy," Peter whispered, eyes stinging with more tears.

He couldn't stand the way Wendy was turning pale with the hook against her throat, ready to slice into her and end her life with such gruesome pain. The way she was begging silently for him to save her again. Trusting him to keep her from harm.

"Jimmy, now, is it? Well, begging won't help, boy. Look at you. Desperate. Pathetic. What's become of you?" The pirate captain snorted, then sneered, "You asked me to show you your weakness, Peter? Take a last look at your Wendy!" Hook cried.

And he raised the iron claw to strike.

Pan's childish, immature, innocent heart gave a great heave.

"_Stop_, stop it!" Peter screamed. "I surrender, Jimmy, stop it!" His dagger fell to the ground and his voice grew thick with tears. "Please. Let her go. I surrender."

He looked Wendy in the eyes and saw Fox falling out of the ship, stabbed to death; he saw Curly lying bedridden with the mermaid's claw marks down his arm; he saw Dr. Fludd collapse off the burning bridge in his root-made kingdom; saw Aaya dropped from the spider-web pass when he thought he'd lost her; saw the tree-spirit colony burn till there wasn't anything left of them; saw his mother in that dream nursery with another boy in his imagined bed, refusing to acknowledge him.

All his innocence fled to the darkest depths of his heart and Peter drifted to the ground, broken.

Hook jerked his head toward the boy, teeth bared, and two of the pirates grabbed Peter by the arms, binding his hands behind his back and still gripping him to make sure he didn't fly away.

Finally the pirate captain let go of Wendy and she fell to the deck on her hands and knees, gasping for breath and getting a short case of the dry heaves, eyes watering. Her companions wanted to rush to her aid, but felt cautiously that Hook's threat not to move was still in effect.

Peter was kicked brutally onto his own knees, breathing heavily from the pain of it. He glared up at Hook with bared teeth as the pirate lord loomed over him, not smiling but definitely gleeful.

Tinkerbell, who had been assisting in the fight by blasting her power at the nearest pirate, was perched on Curly's shoulder, horror-stricken.

"_Get up, Peter, don't let them win!_" she said shrilly in his mind, knowing she could not help without getting them all killed quicker than originally plotted, but when she searched for a response in his brain she heard only echoes and great fear. Fear of losing Wendy if he didn't submit to Hook. Fear of seeing her die.

"Congratulations, Peter," Hook hissed, going down on one knee to look his hated foe in the face. "You've rescued your Wendy girl. For the next few minutes."

Peter spat into his face.

Hook wiped it off and raised his claw once more. A moment later Peter's arm was throbbing; his sleeve torn and covered in blood where the pirate had cut him. The boy didn't flinch, but sucked in a breath of pain.

"I've thought long and hard on how to kill you," Hook bellowed. "I've spent too many nights awake and longing for this day. And now that it's come," he looked up at his crew, standing, amused, "I've no idea which of the choices to pick."

The blaggards all laughed, but they kept their distance after noting the fire in their leader's eyes.

"Fly, Peter!" Wendy gasped out, struggling to stand herself. "Fly!"

Peter refused to look at her, head still tilted to glare at Hook, closing his eyes when he heard her voice, trying to block out the sound. It was his fault she was in this mess; he might never hear her gentle tones again, and this was something he didn't want to contemplate.

"You need happy thoughts to fly," Hook growled over his shoulder at the girl, using the knowledge Captain Bonny had shared with him of the mineral dust's powers in his words. "And now it looks as though your Peter has none."

That was it!

Wendy staggered up to the captain, weak in the legs and clinging to his arm in desperation. "Please..."

He knocked her to the ground savagely with one fling of that same arm.

Wendy hit the deck with a wince, then stared up at the pirate. "Please," she murmured, trying again, "at least let me say goodbye."

Hook grunted. "A farewell?" he scoffed. "Why, pray tell, should I give him the pleasure? It's more than he deserves."

Wendy could not answer, her young eyes pleading with him to allow it.

Hook was unmoved, but decided it was good form to give the two teenagers their final moments. "Take your time," he smirked. "It isn't as if you have much of it left."

Wendy was now in front of Peter, kneeling as he was. She turned to him, and the hopelessness she saw in his dull brown eyes made her want to sob.

"I'm...m'sorry, Wendy," he whispered in pain and almost choked on a sob himself, grimacing at the cut on his arm. "I...shouldn't have brought you here."

"Oh," she said with a weak smile, "don't be. I-I've had the time of my life, Peter, really. I wouldn't change a thing."

Peter let out a small, soft, short chortle, not yet daring to believe her words, showing all his teeth as he did so in his breathy laugh, and Wendy's smile stayed just for that. "Yeah?"

"Of course," Wendy murmured.

"Wendy," Peter said, squeezing his eyes shut for a moment with a wince as more blood stained the arm of his coat, afraid the guilt he was suddenly feeling for a certain action would be too much to bear if he was to die today. He had to tell her what he'd done. "You...you were right. About me. About your...family."

Hook cleared his throat above them and the pirates all gave wicked chuckles. Wendy knew they were pressed for time.

But Peter didn't seem to mind. "I...I went back. The window..."

"That doesn't matter," Wendy told him quickly, trying to speak without her voice catching on the lump in her throat. "Peter, I shouldn't care at all whether the window was closed now. ...You know, you were so very brave today."

Peter shook his head, teeth pressed together, eyes downcast and beginning to shake with pain when one of the pirates kicked him on his side just for sport and he let out a yell.

Wendy helped him back to a kneeling position, casting the men cold looks of distaste.

"You saved me again," she went on.

Peter's eyes met hers in a distant, dazed, bleak helplessness. "No, I-I couldn't save you," he whispered in a broken voice. "I couldn't save any of us. Just like Fox."

"But you will," Wendy insisted quietly, so that the pirates couldn't hear them. "You just need your innocence back, and..."

Peter shook his head again as she was speaking, head low.

But Wendy nodded. "Yes, yes, you saved us all. You saved _me _twice, dear Peter. And I didn't get to thank you."

Peter glanced up, tears in his eyes. He was still of the opinion that they were, all of them, as good as dead simply because of him. His spirit was tarnished; she could see it in his eyes. He didn't want her gratitude. He didn't feel he deserved it. He looked at her as if she were already lifeless on the ground before him, and the pain of that made his entire body throb.

But she was very much alive. And she meant to show him.

"Thank you, Peter," she whispered.

And she kissed him.

This thimble was only a few heartbeats longer than the other two thimbles she'd given him. Both closed their eyes, and the crew and Lost Boys and Darling children and Aaya all stiffened as if the kiss froze time itself around them, completely still.

Peter felt like he was falling. And floating. The intense pain in his arm went away and his head was filled with stars and sweetness. His heart did several impressive flips and twists until finally...the innocence broke through.

Giddy and merry, it swamped his being until he could swear he saw flashes of silver behind his eyelids. His despair was shoved backward.

Wendy pulled away and Peter opened his eyes to see her watching him with a smile.

There was new life in the boy's eyes and as Peter looked at her, he no longer saw her as a dead girl walking. She was alive and well, and Hook had not won yet.

Peter nodded very vaguely, very slightly, to her.

"Time's up," Hook snarled, having the men yank Peter to his feet. "Take him below deck," he ordered to the pirates holding the boy. "He can wait there while I make preparations for his flogging."

There were cruel laughs as the men began dragging Peter away. His friends protested loudly, shouting for them to unhand their leader, to keep him from being beaten, but there was nothing they could do. They seemed to have lost all hope, and this was just what Hook liked to see on their young faces.

Peter let the men draw him toward the door entering the rooms below, his head down, his breathing ragged.

"Peter!" Wendy cried, suddenly unsure as to whether her gift had any effect, trying to rush after him, but Hook and Starkey both barred her way. The boy turned his head and was smacked for it, pushed along.

"You've said your farewell," the captain reminded her with a wicked look of satisfaction. "If your precious Cock-a-Doodle chooses not to care, you aren't permitted to go on trying," he said in a mocking tone.

"Best get with the others, missy," Smee sneered. "You haven't got many hours left to waste in their bloody company."

Wendy was tired of hearing this threat, and actually stepped down hard on his foot. This got her tied to the main mast and the others were bound together in a circle near the railing. They tried to fight their way to the door, to follow Peter, but without time to grab their weapons and outnumbered by the grown men around them, it didn't do much good.

Peter had just reached the doorway when there was a commotion coming from his position. One pirate fell dead to the left, staggering with a frozen, shocked face onto the wooden floor. The other quickly let go of the lad's arm, reaching for his sword, only to find the boy holding it in his now unbound hands, the tip bloodstained.

Peter advanced and in one thrust the villain was slain. He turned toward Hook, holding the blade out with his smirk. "Everyone has a weakness, Jimmy," he said in a terrifyingly calm voice. "I don't think you've gotten your turn to share."

Hook drew his sword; the pirates remaining did the same.

Peter stayed on the ground, to everyone's surprise, as Hook sent three of his men to attack the raven-haired teen. In seconds and with rapid movement, the trio lay lifeless on the ground.

Peter slowly looked at the pirate captain again, lifting his stolen blade. "Who's next?" he breathed with a playful smile that made the blaggards' hearts shudder once each.

This distraction had given the Lost Boys, Darling children, and Aaya time to use Slightly's pen-knife to untie each other and grab their own weapons again, just waiting for Peter to give the signal.

Hook glanced at his men. "Get him." The command, so neutrally issued, had a ring of malice in it.

As the pirates rushed at Peter, the boy, instead of shooting into the air at once as Wendy hoped he would, began cutting them down one by one, mostly only wounding them or fighting so superbly that they drew back in alarm. He was like a demon, grinning as he fought, knocking one pirate to the side, taking two steps and stabbing another one in the arm, kicking him away, then going for the next and finding the man unwilling to cross swords with him in terror; forcing that one out of his way and parrying against another.

Peter was cutting a path toward Hook, who waited with his sword in hand for the lad to get to him.

Peter smirked restlessly at his crew. "You're welcome to join the fun anytime you're ready!"

The Lost Boys, Aaya, and the Darlings all exchanged stunned glances. Then they charged the pirates, and the battle became even more intense.

Hook was not surprised to see Peter cross the distance between them with a short flight. "It looks as if you regained your wings. What happy thoughts are you deceiving yourself with, I wonder?" he said smugly.

Peter scooped up his dagger in one hand. "Seeing you—" he brought the dagger down near the man's arm and Hook parried with his iron claw, "—bleeding to death on this ship's deck! With all your killers slain around you! Or—" he shoved the hook backward and thrust his sword across the pirate's chest, cutting through his scarlet coat, "—chomped to bits by one of those _hungry_ crocodiles!" He put such dreadfully-creepy emphasis on the word _hungry_, grinning with delight and hissing it out through his teeth that Hook's heart quaked with fear for just a moment.

"All that?"

"I've got a big imagination."

Hook tried to kick Peter's legs out from under him; the boy jumped in the nick of time and ducked when the iron claw swept just above his head, using his dagger to rip one of Hook's white, fancy sleeve-cuffs halfway off the wrist of the garment.

Hook bellowed in rage and pain as his only wrist started throbbing from the cut.

Peter, eyes literally specked with silver innocence in the right light, said patronizingly, "Lose your frills?"

Hook let out a roar and used his signature disabling move, and Peter's sword flew from his hand. But he still had his dagger.

"Ah, good, now we're evenly matched!" Peter cackled, ducking again and smiling openly at the pirate, cocking his head in a _tsk, tsk_ sort of way. "Mostly."

"I'll take you and your ego down to the depths of the sea one piece at a time, boy," snarled Hook, thoroughly irritated now.

"Oh, if I'm going swimming, you're coming with me," Peter hissed as he came inches from the pirate, their weapons pushing hard against each other as if testing which was the strongest.

Peter was acting in the childish way he used to when he was in an especially good mood, joking about with Fox and the other lads in the basement of the Fencing Academy, completely comfortable, free to be himself with all their thieving jobs done for the day. And it was making Hook's body tremble with furious frustration, the almost effortless way the lad was fighting him, as if it were all a game he was certain he'd win any moment now.

Their blades clashed against one another, and Peter let out a growling yelp of pain when Hook reopened the wound on the boy's arm, which had been starting to heal because of the mineral dust in his veins.

Tinkerbell, hearing this and having just blasted Smee into a daze with a flash of her body's light, flitted to his side. "_Do you need any help, Peter?_" she demanded in his mind determinedly.

Peter shook his head, clutching his arm and willing it to at least stop bleeding. "I can beat this old codfish with one hand behind my back!"

"Don't make promises you can't keep," Hook taunted, standing with both hook and sword at the ready.

Peter met his eyes with cold, immature glee and lifted his chin with a grand smirk, making a big show of tucking his left hand behind his back and dipping his head to his foe in a mock polite way. "When you're ready, _Captain_."

Hook waited a heartbeat and then sprang for Peter, hacking sword-to-dagger, then hook-to-dagger. Peter seemed full of boundless energy, but Hook was already beginning to sweat. Seeing the crazed merriment in the sneering lad's eyes, the captain decided that, whatever power the mineral dust held, whatever grand feelings they could have given him and Bonny in their mad quest for the spell, the tree-spirits could keep to themselves. He was suddenly anxious of the magic's power on a brain even as clever as Peter's. He didn't realize it was feeding on Peter's innocent heart, as the boy willingly let it now, and this was the only reason Pan was acting the way he continued to.

"What are you?" Hook growled as Peter backed him up against the main mast, both enemies still jabbing away at each other.

"Can't you tell?" Peter said in a disturbingly low tone, teeth gritted in that ominous smile. "I'm your worst nightmare, Jimmy!" He leaned closer, both hands on his dagger as he lifted into the air and pushed Hook's sword backward. "A _child_," he said merrily, "fixed on seeing you _dead_!"

Hook's hate was clear in his eyes and clenched jaw as he pushed back, but the boy had surprising strength. Peter was saying these things in his giddy state because he knew more than anyone what to do to get Captain James Hook to become nervous, vulnerable, and uncontrollably angry.

It was then that Hook spotted Wendy, who was fighting Smee and Cecco back-to-back with Aaya, and turned to try and seize her in another effort to keep Peter at bay.

This was an incredibly stupid move on his part.

Peter's innocence mixed with fury in a deadly concoction that strengthened his thinking, and he was in Hook's path in half a heartbeat.

"You really shouldn't have tried that," Peter hissed, glowering at him out of the tops of his eyes.

"She _will _die," Hook promised grimly. "One way or another. And the fault _will _be yours, Pan!"

"You think you know about love, Jimmy?" Peter crowed, hacking with his sword so that Hook was near the plank. "As if you ever knew the meaning of the word! Whoever said they loved a cold-blooded _murderer_ like you," he snarled nastily, dodging a swipe from the silver hook, "_lied_!"

Hook bared his teeth as if he were crocodile now. "You've got it all wrong, whelp," he spat, "if you believed I cared about any of that in the first place. All I wanted was to see you broken, weak, _finished_! And now that I've discovered it _can _be done, I won't rest until it's become a reality!"

"You'll be awake for quite a while, then, won't you?" Peter sneered, forcing Hook out onto the plank.

There was a shout as the two of the last four men remaining alive in the crew of the _Jolly Roger _collapsed, dead, to the deck at the hands of Tootles and Slightly.

Only Starkey, Smee, and the captain himself were left.

"Surrender now," Twins said helpfully, "and we won't have to take pieces of you back to the den!"

Starkey snorted and Smee looked at him with trembling, wrinkled hands as the two killers were surrounded by a circle of children.

Starkey, humiliated, in a great deal of pain, and very ready to give up, said testily, "What would you have us do?"

"Recite the Kings of England?" Michael suggested brightly.

"We aren't _that _barbaric," Slightly said in mock horror.

Wendy laughed.

Curly's mouth twitched into a smile of amusement. Then it vanished. "Toss 'em overboard."

"What, to the beasties?" Smee echoed in alarm.

"I'd wager one side of the ship's got crocs, one don't," Twins shrugged.

"You can take a guess," John offered.

"Best of luck," Tootles added.

"You cannot be serious," Starkey scoffed.

Nibs held the tip of his sword to the man's throat. "Does it look like we're joking?"

In seconds both cowards-at-heart had leapt off the ship, swimming madly for shore before the crocodiles could realize there was finally meat in the water.

The children cheered.

"Wait," Wendy silenced them, "where's Peter?"

"_There!_" Tinkerbell cried, hovering over them and pointing.

They spotted the final duel still raging on on the plank.

"Has he got one hand behind him useless?" John exclaimed in shock.

"Show-off," Curly muttered.

They ran to the railing.

"Peter!" cried Aaya.

"How should we help?" Tootles called.

Peter didn't reply, forcing Hook out to the edge. "You or me this time, Hook," he repeated his vow from earlier in the night, flipping his dagger and holding it up as a challenge.

"So be it, then," Hook retorted furiously.

"D'you hear that?" Suddenly Peter's eyebrows pinched and then raised mischievously and he gasped. "The crocs! Sounding famished, aren't they?"

"I don't hear a thing," Hook snarled in his low voice, brandishing his sword.

"Well, then let me help," Peter snapped with his brows dipping.

He took out his father's old watch, dangling it over the water. It opened as its chain bobbed in Peter's hand, still working since the boy had visited London.

"Remember this, Jimmy?" said Peter. "You threw it to the abyss back in the caves. The orb dragged it back to London with me. Must've felt me wishing it to come back." He smiled now, holding it further out. "I don't need it now." He glanced down at the picture of his mother. "I don't go about with grown up people," he explained with a sneer, "or memories of them."

Hook glared at him, shaking with hardly contained venom in his eyes.

"But if you want it," Peter growled, "you're gonna have to go and get it."

He dropped the watch, and the largest of the crocodiles swallowed it whole.

The watch went down still working, still moving. In the croc's huge stomach, the noise from the small contraption somehow echoed as if it were sounding the alarm for the arrival of Jas. Hook's last moments.

"Now, don't tell me you can't hear _that_," Peter said, a smirk growing on his mouth. "_Tick, tock, tick, tock. Tick, tock, tick tock!_"

Hook's memories of Captain Bonny saying the same thing when they first met pounded through his mind, and suddenly he could clearly hear the clock. Every tick it made squeezed a bit more dread into his heart.

"You've taken too many people, Hook," Peter said, taking a step forward. "Fox. Fludd. Tink's colony. It's time you paid for all that."

"None of that was my choice," Hook hissed.

"What about my father?" Peter countered, taking another step. "You wanted to kill the lads, wanted to kill Aaya. You _tried_ to kill Wendy."

His next words came slipped through his pearly teeth, eyebrows so low over his brown eyes no one had ever looked so disgusted.

"Don't tell me it wasn't a choice, Jimmy, because you _wanted _this. You _chose _to be a pirate. You _chose _to be a murderer. And this is where it ends."

As Peter lunged for him with his sword, Hook turned and glanced over his shoulder so that Peter could kick him instead of stab him like a proper, honorable fighter would do to win a duel.

Peter let instinct take over and lifted into the air, dagger raised, but kicked Hook squarely in the spine, innocence wrapping him in its shielding folds again as he relished his hated enemy's last seconds.

"Bad form," hissed Hook, desperate in the end to see Peter stoop to his level, and he fell willingly to the crocodiles.

Peter wasn't disturbed by his lack of 'form' and watched his direst foe fall to the beasts without so much as a scream. The one with the watch inside its belly opened its mouth first and received its meal with the craving in its yellow eyes satisfied.

Not a tear fell from the boy's eye as his mentor's life ended. None of them showed any signs of regret. The villain had gotten even less of a death than he'd deserved, and yet in the next few days they would want desperately to put it out of their minds, though why they could not say exactly.

Thus perished Captain James "Jimmy" Hook.

* * *

**(Author's Note: I know, I know, _long_ chapter. Seriously, this one was HARD work. So _please _tell me in great detail, as much as you can fit, in your reviews, what you thought about all the biggest scenes in this chapter. Because it was the most difficult to write and I'd be so grateful for just as much feedback as you guys can muster. I really hope you've been enjoying this fanfic, because I'm trying really hard to live up to Syfy's awesome miniseries and J.M. Barrie's spectacular novel. By the way, contrary to popular belief, this fanfic isn't based off of the 2003 Peter Pan movie. Every familiar line you hear from that movie is actually originally from the book, both in this fanfic and in that adorable movie, okay? It's all based on the amazing novel! So go read that too! That's where Hook's obsession with form comes from and Peter's quirks you didn't see in Neverland come from. It's all in the book. So anyway, next chapter coming soon, remember to write a nice, thick review if you can and I hope you're loving it! ~Doverstar)**


	18. Chapter 18: A Promise

**(Author's Note: I hope you've enjoyed this online novel of a fanfic as much as I've enjoyed writing it, even if it didn't get the feedback I'd hoped it would. I liked writing it, and that's what counts. Here's the last chapter. ****Also, if anyone has a Spotify account, look up Neverland 3 Soundtrack: Thimbles and Acorns in the search bar and you'll find the many selections of songs that go with this fanfic if you wish to listen to them. It has been a privilege and a pleasure, dear normals! Enjoy! ~Doverstar)**

* * *

The Lost Boys, Aaya, and the Darlings were all very ready to leave the _Jolly Roger_ as soon as dawn arrived.

They returned to the home under the ground, thoroughly exhausted. Aaya went back to her tribe, knowing they would be worried, and as soon as the group reached their dens, they each collapsed in their rooms on their beds, all of which had never felt so comfortable before.

Wounds could wait until they awoke. There is no cure like sleep.

Peter was the first up, of course. His arm was stinging and his heart pounding as he lurched into a sitting position in bed. He'd seen visions in his slumber, dreadful things. Worst of all of the unspeakable images, he'd seen Wendy killed before him in his dream by an iron claw, and he'd been immobile the entire time, forced to watch as she screamed his name. It was only his adrenaline playing with the mineral dust and exhaustion in his subconscious, but it was frightening enough.

In his dazed position he shot into the air, hitting his head hard on the earthen roof of his room. Rubbing his head, Peter drifted slowly to the ground, mind a little cloudy.

It was one of those nightmares where, when a person you hold dear in it dies, you feel as if you have to make sure it really was all in your head. This was why Peter rushed out of the room and slowly peeked into Wendy's, pushing the curtain back to check on her.

She wasn't asleep, peacefully in her bed, as he'd thought she would be, and for a moment his heart quivered with terror.

Then he saw her shivering on the floor, sitting with her head in her hands.

Peter blinked. "Wendy?" He entered the room and walked over to her swiftly, crouching in front of her. "What's happened?"

Wendy looked up at the sound of his voice and he saw her eyes red from crying. "I-It was horrible! I was...it..." she went back to sobbing into her hands.

Peter felt awkward and shared her unhappiness, unsure what to do for her when he didn't know the problem. Arms slung over his knees as he crouched, he looked at the ground and the wall, thinking of what it could be. The first suggestion was obvious, and came out almost as soon as it flickered in his mind.

"Were you dreaming?"

Wendy's eyes came up again and she nodded numbly, sniffling.

"Me too," Peter murmured gently. "What was it?"

"H-Hook...killed my brothers. H-He killed everyone, s-so... so quickly, a-and you were the last!" Wendy broke down crying again. "It was so real, Peter!"

"It was just a dream," Peter reminded her. "Look at me, I'm alive, Wendy. I'm fine. And so are your brothers."

Wendy shook a little longer, then seemed to calm down, sitting on the bed, quiet for a few minutes. Finally she blinked at Peter with her glittering blue eyes. "What did _you_dream of?"

Peter's eyebrows pinched as usual. "Doesn't matter. It's over now. None of it was real."

"Was it your mother again?"

"It doesn't matter," Peter repeated a little more firmly. When she looked back at him with a confused expression, he added, "...Sorry. I don't wanna talk about it."

"I understand," said Wendy. "I'm ever so glad it all turned out the way it did, Peter," she said quietly. "We could have been dead by now." She shuddered. "Neverland is...a dangerous place."

Peter was quiet for a few seconds before nodding very slowly. "That's why you're going back."

Wendy stared at him. "What?"

"You almost died last night," Peter whispered. "I can't keep you safe."

"You already have," Wendy told him stubbornly. "I'm here, aren't I? And Hook is dead. Peter, it wasn't your fault, what happened to me on that ship."

Peter didn't answer.

"It was my decision to come to Neverland with you," Wendy insisted. "It isn't as if you forced us into it. We don't have to leave right away, you know..."

He couldn't hear any more of this. She was so close to convincing him to let her stay, and that was, he knew, the wrong thing to do for her. The selfish thing. Tinkerbell had warned him against trying to protect her, but this was a different kind of protection. This kind hurt.

"You're going home," Peter said swiftly, before he could change his mind, standing up with his back to her. "Today."

Wendy looked down, her eyes filling with tears. She thought he didn't want her. "Why, Peter?" she asked finally.

Peter turned to look at her. "Because the window was open."

Her eyes grew distant then, as if she were deep in thought. Peter waited for her to say, 'I told you so', but she didn't. She looked at her lap and fell silent for a while, and Peter couldn't tell whether she was happy or confused or a mixture of everything.

Wendy kept her eyes downcast. "It will be a memorable story to tell them," she said quietly. "But I shan't like the ending very much." Her tears fell then.

Peter sat beside her with an inward sigh. "I know."

* * *

The next day, preparations were made for the Darlings, Peter, and Wendy to be escorted back to London.

Wendy tried to convince the Lost Boys to come with them one last time as they stood on the edge of the highest cliff on the island, outside the Kaw village, saying their goodbyes and readying themselves for the flight to the second star. "My mother and father should like very much to look after you all," she told them.

"We don't go about with grown up people," Curly said with a teasing clap on Peter's shoulder.

Peter glanced at him and made a comical face, shaking the hand off.

"Besides," Nibs added, "what's London got that could ever be better than Neverland?"

"A frightening lack in pirates," John muttered dryly.

Slightly blinked. "He's got a point."

Tootles elbowed him.

Twins and Michael were having a very hard time saying their farewells to each other. The two young boys had become great friends.

"Are you sure you don't wanna come with us?" Michael checked.

"If the rest are staying in Neverland, I ought to stay too," Twins mumbled.

"We stick together, us _Lost Boys_," Tootles added with an amused expression.

Peter rolled his eyes in exasperation.

"Now that Hook is gone, we should be a great deal safer," Aaya said, standing beside Curly. "You don't have to worry about us."

"She's right," John exclaimed, glancing excitedly at his sister. "Wendy, with Hook dead, we could..."

"No, John," said Wendy quickly. "We must return to our parents. Think how worried they must be."

"Was father the worrying type?" Michael asked, looking a little dazed and blinking a few times. "I can't remember."

"Having all your children gone for..." Wendy racked her brains, trying to add up how long they had been in Neverland. She couldn't recall. "...For this long would make any man a worrying type."

"_The star is flashing, Peter,_" Tinkerbell said, fluttering near his head. "_It will lost its power soon._ _The moon is nearly half and half again._"

Peter glanced at the sky and nodded. "All right. No blubbering, you lot," he ordered his men quietly. "It's time we were leaving."

The Lost Boys shook hands and referenced inside jokes with John and tussled Michael's hair and nudged him playfully, a male's goodbye, and Wendy gave each of them a curtsy, a smile, and some of the younger she hugged, even Tootles, whose ears turned red as soon as she did so. She embraced Aaya, of course.

"The Kaw people will miss you and your stories," Tiger Lily said with a weak smile.

"Then you shall have to teach them to make their own," Wendy replied brightly, with forced optimism. "Perhaps it will become a tradition."

"Perhaps."

Peter watched all this with a completely neutral face, but inside he was in a battle, not between common sense and his innocence, but between his longing for Wendy and his duty to do the right thing. They belonged with the parents who waited for them all this time. Even if his heart ached as he watched Wendy glance to the star with her eyes shining at the thought of seeing her family again.

Curly raised his eyebrows, coming up beside Peter and murmuring quietly, "Are you all right, Peter?"

Peter didn't reply, didn't nod. He didn't have a proper answer for what he was feeling.

The Darling children had all drank from his mineral dust spring in his den earlier in the afternoon, and Tinkerbell had sang the tree-spirit song so that it would allow them to fly only for the journey.

Their companions were still waving and shouting to them as Peter led the three young visitors into the sky, toward the second star to the right.

Wendy would not look at him as they flew. She no longer seemed afraid of heights, but kept her eyes on the luminescent portal before them, face completely relaxed. She was trying very hard to be dignified and refined and indifferent-looking, yet inwardly she was devastated that they were leaving the Neverland. Leaving the black-haired, starry-eyed boy that flew with ease alongside her.

Where Wendy refused to make eye contact, Peter kept glancing sideways at her, trying to guess what she could be feeling, trying to get her to meet his eyes, but she was stubbornly looking ahead. It made him unbelievably frustrated. Yes, this was hard, but did that mean they had to make it worse by pretending it didn't bother them? If she could act so careless about it, so could he!

The blast from the second star made his teeth tingle and his fingertips cold as the four children shot through it. They came out blinking in flight, eyes irritated by the sudden lack of brightness.

Peter looked down on London with complete distaste. This place, he was realizing more and more each day between visits, was nowhere near as wonderful as the Neverland. Neverland was adventures and eternal youth. The ordinary world was just that: ordinary. Boring. Dull. Lifeless. Full of bitter greediness and thick disappointment, killing and dying. In Neverland, this things were dampened by a considerable length of excitement and adrenaline. What children experience when they are all alone, left to their own devices, caught up in their own little world. _That _was the atmosphere in Neverland. A mixture of every child's wonder and playfulness, spotless imagination, flawless arrogance, and a touch of blissful ignorance-these were ingredients for the very definition of being young: innocence.

And Peter, instead of hating the toll it had taken on him, found himself preferring this atmosphere as he swooped over the snow-covered, gray city. Neverland was calling him back almost a second after he'd left. Back to the innocence he'd been fighting for so long.

Looking at London now, his old home, Peter knew with absolute certainty that Wendy had been right all along. Innocence was to be cherished. He couldn't imagine a day without it. A day, he decided with a contemptuous face, which would really be a full 24 hours of being tainted with the horrors of the world, otherwise known as _all grown up_. It sounded like cruel and inevitable torture.

As they neared the Darling home, Wendy's heart dropped like a stone, and she stopped her flying pattern abruptly, causing Michael to bump into her.

"The window," John mumbled, looking ill.

"Wendy?" Michael glanced at his sister nervously.

"It's closed." Wendy said numbly, her face pale. "Peter, it's..."

Peter had already flown to the window, his eyes on her as he did so. "I closed it," he said quietly.

Wendy only looked back at him, waiting for an explanation, though she felt she already knew why.

"I wanted to show you all you didn't need your parents," Peter began, Tinkerbell flying to his side. "But you proved me wrong. It was open when I came. And it would be open now if I hadn't interfered." He met Wendy's gaze. "Your mother's always gonna want you."

She smiled, but it was bittersweet.

Peter pulled the window open and the children all flew into the room as quietly as they could.

It looked somehow darker than it had when they'd last come. Their mother was still asleep in her chair, and you needn't wonder how she had slept so late into the day, because grief is one of the most exhausting things in the universe, and this should be common knowledge. Mrs. Darling had decided that sleeping and dreaming of her children was a far better way to spend her days than to be awake and know, as she thought she knew, that they were gone and would never return. George Darling had the day off, but was downstairs with their maid, Lisa, uncharacteristically helping her to make tea for his wife, who he planned to gently wake up upon bringing her the drinks.

"We should break it to her gently," John whispered. "We don't want her fainting."

The boys began to rush toward their old beds, trying to be as silent as possible.

Wendy stayed where she was, face long.

"Come on, Wendy!" Michael hissed, pulling at her hand.

Wendy glanced twice over her shoulder at the window, where Peter lingered, floating a few feet outside it so that he could see the scene taking place in the nursery with discreteness.

Peter looked back at her, drawing courage from her blue eyes and willing himself to remain calmly certain about returning them to their home.

Finally, still trying to make sure Peter remained in sight, Wendy climbed into bed and pulled the covers up.

Mrs. Darling went on sleeping, face far from peaceful as she did so, more tears falling from her eyes as she murmured in her slumber.

Finally, Peter's innocence (innocence he was now taking pride in having) thrust impatience upon him and he very softly tapped his knuckles on the open window's glass, then flew out of view, back just against the wall beside the window itself.

Instantly Mrs. Darling was awake. "Wendy! John! Michael!"

The children, to their credit, almost moved then, but when she saw them in their beds she did not become as excited as they had expected. Nor did she run to pull them out and into her loving embrace. She sat back down in her chair, broken-hearted, sobbing into her hands.

You see, she saw them so often in her dreams that she thought, seeing her little ones tucked beneath their blankets, that this was the dream hanging around her still.

Then the winter cold of the outside world flooded in as a breeze through the open window, stinging the tears on her cheeks, and she knew she was no longer dreaming.

It was real.

They were here!

The mother leapt to her feet with less grace than a lady of her reputation should have, and cried out again in a desperately joyful voice, "John! Michael! Wendy!"

A moment later they were in her arms, and her tears were no longer tears of grief. George, hearing the ruckus, raced to the nursery and the same sort of reaction followed. During the merry reunion in the crushing embrace of their guardians, the children knew then that they had never been off of their mother and father's minds, and felt thoroughly guilty for both leaving and forgetting their parents at all in the first place.

Lisa, the maid, joined them and hugged each child, quite unprofessionally, showering 7-year-old Michael with kisses all over his face, and John laughed at his brother's expression before Lisa approached him with similar joy.

"I'm sorry, Mother," Wendy murmured as she threw her arms about her mother's neck. "I'm so sorry! We never should have gone. It was all quite amazing, so you see, we got a little distracted-"

"But _where_, Wendy?" Mary held her daughter at arm's length, interrupting Wendy's guilty rambling, her smile only wavering a bit. "_Where _were you? We were so worried..."

"We thought we'd never see you again!" Lisa added, biting back a sob; she was quite a dramatic and petite woman, and for once her master and mistress did not forbid her from adding her opinion to the conversation.

"Neverland!" Michael exclaimed. "We went to Neverland!"

George stared at his son, dumbfounded. "This is not the time for games, Michael."

"It isn't a game, Father," John insisted. "Neverland is real. So are the tree-spirits and Captain Hook...well, he _was _real, anyway..."

"You aren't making any sense, darling," Mary said, blinking.

"D'you remember all those stories?" Wendy asked, her voice suddenly quieter. "The ones Uncle Barrie told us?"

"Yes, of course," Mary nodded.

"Stories, yes, that was all they were," George added, but he sounded a bit uncertain. The looks his three returned children were giving him were so serious. They couldn't be telling the truth, could they? It was nonsense.

Then again, that kind of talk had made him the most guilt-ridden man in the entire city for the remainder of the time his children had been missing.

"They were true," John told them. "Every last detail. The pirates, the Indians..."

"Peter Pan," Michael added.

"Peter Pan?" echoed his mother.

"Real?" repeated his father.

"He is," Wendy said, and she had never sounded so firm when speaking to her parents. "And he's the most remarkable person I've ever met."

"And the bravest," Michael chimed in.

"And the best swordsman," said John.

"And the most arrogant," Wendy added with a smile.

Then there came a mock-indignant chortle from the window. "I can hear you, you know."

The entire family looked toward the sound, and saw Peter with his arms crossed, hovering above the windowsill, smirking that cocky smirk.

Mrs. Darling forgot how to speak.

Mr. Darling made a short gagging sound in the back of his throat and froze on the spot.

Lisa fainted right then and there, which is unfortunate because this meant supper would be ruined.

John looked at his parents with a large, amused smile and Michael snickered. Wendy just looked back at Peter.

"Mother," she said, "Father, I would like to introduce Peter Pan, the boy who won't grow up."

She drew them to the window, and Peter landed on the sill so that he wouldn't cause much more panic than he already had. But of course, Mr. and Mrs. Darling had already seen him airborne.

"Astounding," said George, watching him. "How on Earth do you do it?"

"I'm afraid it's not something I can teach," Peter said with a knowing glance at Wendy, amused.

The sun was already finished setting by now, and stars began to appear in the sky.

"Then the tales are true?" Mrs. Darling whispered; she was quite ready to believe. There was something in her eyes that showed she had, contained in her grown, womanly form, far more wonder than her husband ever would. "You haven't a mother? You live without aging?"

Peter met her gaze and nodded very slightly.

"Every child should have a mother," Mrs. Darling said quietly, feeling the ache of sympathy for him. And, with her tender heart and in this moment of joy at having her offspring back with her, she made a spur-of-the-moment decision to offer Peter the one thing he'd never had. "I should like very much to give you one, young man."

"Interesting idea, that." Peter was calm and his expression did not change. "Well, wouldn't you send me to school?"

She nodded. "Of course."

"And an office next, I s'pose."

"Yes."

"I'll be a man before I know it, eh?" Peter said with mock cheer, grinning at John, who nervously didn't laugh.

"All too quickly," Mrs. Darling said with a reluctant certainty and an inside-joke smile.

The length of Peter's smile shrank into a line that was not quite a frown, and not quite a small smile either.

"No." Then Peter said in an urgently-quiet voice, as if sharing some important piece of information, leaning down a bit, "D'you remember that sensation you get when you're running in a game of tag, or you're climbing a tree and you almost slip, and it's so exciting you can feel your heart pounding harder?"

Wendy watched her parents as they listened, knowing the charm of one of Peter's speeches.

Mr. Darling was actually the first to answer. "Yes. Yes, I do."

Mrs. Darling only nodded slowly, watching the enchanting teenager.

"That's what it's like to be a kid," Peter told them. "Every day in Neverland, that's what I feel. I can't give it up."

"But you need a mother," Mrs. Darling protested. "A family."

"Well, I've got a family," Peter said, his _well _turning to that charming _wuh _sound in his British accent. He said it almost scornfully, as if she should know this already. "My crew."

"His men," Wendy explained.

"The Lost Boys," added Michael.

"You mean there are others without a home?" Mrs. Darling gasped.

"They have a home too," John told her. "Their den. The home under the ground."

"And if it should fall in?" George asked, completely taken with the idea. Mrs. Darling looked horrified.

"That would be unfortunate," Peter said with a smirk. "But, see, that's the point. Every day is an adventure. If I stay here, I'll grow up. And growing up means the end of innocence." He shook his head slowly. "That's not me."

"But Peter, growing up is an adventure all its own," Mrs. Darling insisted.

Peter gave her a small, bitter smile. "Then that's one adventure I'm gonna have to go without."

"Peter," Wendy said suddenly, her voice strained and despairing, "when can you come back?"

Peter's eyes switched from her family to meet her gaze and his smirk disappeared.

Mrs. Darling looked at her daughter, then to the raven-haired boy, and said quickly, "Oh! Oh, heavens, we haven't alerted your Uncle to your arrival! Come, come, he'll be so delighted!"

"But what about..." began John.

"No fuss, John, dear, come along."

And she hurried John and Michael toward the nursery door. She had to pull George along, who was eyeing Peter and his daughter with obvious distrust.

When they were alone, Peter still took his time answering, lingering in the air now as he looked at Wendy.

"I don't know if I can come back," Peter said quietly.

"What do you mean?" Wendy asked, her voice thick with tears now. She couldn't keep them back any longer.

Peter hated to see her eyes sparkling with those tears. It made it harder to compose himself. Tinkerbell was silent in his coat pocket, but she could practically feel his heartache.

"Last time it took a year before I could get back here through the second star," Peter whispered, landing on the windowsill.

"Then I'll wait for you," Wendy decided, blinking furiously so that her tears wouldn't fall, but of course they did.

Peter smiled slightly at that, letting out a puff of air. "You'll be older."

"Only by a year."

"I'll stay the same."

"I don't care."

"You know this isn't a good idea," Peter told her, though it was like having Hook cut his arm again. "I'll keep coming back and you'll grow without me."

"Then stay," Wendy whispered.

Peter watched her for a moment, enjoying being in her company with a kind of horrible sweetness, like the last hours of a snow day you know will be gone in the morning.

But he shook his head, still wearing that small, faint smile.

"Peter, please stay," pleaded Wendy around the lump in her throat. "Please. We can grow up together. It'll be a new kind of adventure, just like Mother said."

"Wendy," he said with a kind of tender firmness, his smile gone and tears pricking behind his own brown eyes, "I can't. I just want to be young. Always. To have fun. I have to go back."

"Then," she cried, though it made her shudder, "I'll come with you."

Peter could scarcely believe she wanted him that badly, and it made his heartbeat sound in his head and his fingertips tingle to think that she might. But he had to rip that sugary possibility, the possibility that she would go back with him, out of his mind.

"No," he said quietly, and she inhaled rapidly, more tears falling. Why did she have to make this so difficult? Couldn't she see it was killing him too? _This _was love? "You belong here. With your family. They need you." His heart practically shattered then as he added in a hurry, "Besides, if we've got to wait a year, what's the point?"

She caught her breath then, and bent her head while choking back a sob of hurt, hand to her mouth.

He turned, pained, preparing to leap into the air, tearing his eyes away from Wendy's heartbroken blues...but Tinkerbell's voice sounded in their minds.

"_Wait, Peter! Spring!_" she said.

Peter's eyebrows dipped and he halted. "What?"

"_Spring. The star will be active again in spring. Every spring._"

"How do you know?" Wendy asked, drying her tears reluctantly, trying to keep more from coming.

"_I can feel it,_" Tinkerbell told her with a little less haughtiness than she usually used when addressing Wendy, sensing the girl's frailty just now. "_Spring is a time of new life. Around springtime, the star should be as powerful as it is when the moon in Neverland is full._"

Peter glanced at Wendy. Wendy glanced at Peter. Her eyes were filling up again just at the sight of him, and Peter's cockiness was nowhere in sight.

"Tink. Why didn't you tell me earlier?" Peter asked as she darted out of his coat pocket.

"_Call it an immature relapse,_" Tinkerbell admitted with an amused look at Wendy, "_of envy._"

Peter turned to Wendy, unsure of what to say or how to begin.

"Spring-cleaning time," said Wendy, sniffling, "is usually when our school takes a holiday."

Peter smiled now, every one of his baby teeth showing. "Spring-cleaning time it is, then."

Wendy could barely believe he meant it. She would see him again after all? And so soon as spring! Why, that was only a month away! Her heart filled with happiness at the thought, but she had to be sure.

"Promise?" Wendy asked, trembling a little with hope.

"I promise."

"Then I suppose," said Wendy huskily, "it won't be so very hard to say goodbye. Just for a short time."

Peter grinned, landing in the nursery beside her and bowing teasingly.

"Goodbye, Peter." Wendy threw her arms around him and he stood still, then hugged her back with one arm.

He pulled away gently, reluctantly. "G'bye, Wendy."

Then Peter leaned in and kissed her without hesitation, without rushing.

The last of the mineral dust in her veins that had gotten her back home lit on fire inside Wendy, and her feet left the floor as Peter's exited the windowsill, both of them seeing stars and hearing music.

Then the flying boy with all his baby teeth, his first laugh, his raven-colored hair, starlit eyes and valiant demeanor shot ever higher, with a charming smile back at her, toward the second star to the right, his fairy zipping after him.

And the imaginative girl with chocolate-brown locks, a kiss around her neck, and a face full of childlike wonder leaned with both hands on the windowsill, watching her very first love vanish with a flash into the star that had tempted her to a land of innocence on a night that seemed so long ago.

"This is a frightfully grand story," Wendy said with a sigh, softly to herself, "but I do wish I could hear it again."

A voice came from the doorway.

"And so you will, my dear," said J.M. Barrie, thoughtfully. "You will indeed."


End file.
